Let the Sun Shine In
by eirenical
Summary: Third in the "Where Do I Go?" set. Ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away, no matter how desperately you might wish it would. And our Tribe has been ignoring far too many problems of late. What happens when the dam finally collapses? Claude/Berger
1. Chapter 1

**_March 18, 2010:_** Goodness gracious. I think I've babbled enough for one day, so I'll try to make this brief. O_O As noted, the third in the WDIG? set. For clarity's sake, I'm going to give you a timeline -- like the first in the set, this one skips an occasional chunk of time. O_O Prologue is set somewhere around early fall of 1984, Part 1 skips forward to somewhere around February of '85. From there on out, it's pretty straightforward. Part 2 is set about a month later in March and Part 3 and 4 are set in May. Part 4 is a direct continuation of three (set on the same day), but if I'd left them together, the part would have ended up too long. I think that's it...?

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much.))_

**Word Count:** 22,984 -- and even with all that, one of the two scenes I was most eager to write... decided it wanted to wait for the next fic. *falls over*; ~5500 per part, except for the prologue, which is 1,357.

**_Warnings:_** Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh.

* * *

**_Let the Sun Shine In_**  
by _Renee-chan_

Finally. It was finished. Jeanie's lips stretched up into a smile of grim satisfaction. All the things she'd written, all the stories she'd told... all along they'd been mere practice, preparation for the work she'd just finished. It was almost painful, seeing the words "The End" written at the bottom. She'd labored over this story for so long it had been like birthing a second child. She almost didn't know what to do now that it was finished.

A splotch of wetness dropped from her face to the paper and it was with no small amount of wonder that she realized she was crying. Raising a hand to her face, she gently wiped away the tears. The motion caught the attention of the table's other occupant. Face drawn in worry, her son reached out a hand to clasp hers, "You OK, mom?"

Jeanie grabbed tight hold of her son's hand and smiled, "I'm fine, Claude. Better than fine." Turning the stack of papers in front of her to face him, she let out a wet, little laugh, "I think... I think it's finished."

At those words, Cloud's hand reflexively tightened on hers, "Really, truly?"

Her laughter firming up at the joy and hope in her son's face, Jeanie brought his hand up and pressed a kiss across the knuckles, "Really, truly." At the immediate twitch in her son's fingers and the almost hungry look in his eyes, Jeanie laughed again, "I knew I should have waited until you finished your homework before telling you." With a heavy sigh, she pushed over the stack, "Now you'll never get it done."

With a wicked grin, Cloud grabbed the stack of typeset pages, gave Jeanie a kiss on the cheek and scampered off to hide in his room with the manuscript. He'd waited almost two years to read this story -- hell, in a way, he'd waited his whole _life_ to read this story. He'd be damned if he was going to wait another second longer than he had to to get his hands on it.

Five hours later, Jeanie was nervously pacing her living room, jumping every time she thought she heard a door open. My G-d... It was _worse_ than having a child. At least when you had a baby, you knew no one was going to walk up to you and tell you how ugly it was.

Wringing her hands, Jeanie glanced at the clock again. Five hours and five _minutes_. Damn it. So intent was she on the passage of time that she actually didn't hear the sound she'd been waiting 305 minutes to hear -- the sound of her son's door opening. So when he walked up behind her and touched her shoulder, she about jumped out of her skin. Whirling around, she took a good look at her son's face... and immediately wanted to bury her own, "No... was it really that bad, Claude? Really, truly?"

Taking a deep breath and frantically wiping his eyes, her son shook his head, "No, mom. It was that _good_. It's just... I guess I never..." Flinging one hand up helplessly, he continued, "There's so much that makes sense, now." His voice dropped into a harsh whisper for the last words, "I never realized what a charmed existence I've had. I don't think anyone my age really does. I can't even imagine..." His voice trailed off.

Jeanie plucked at her son's shirtsleeve, feeling suddenly and inexplicably shy, "So... you liked it?"

"Mom, 'like' is too mild a word. It's a _wonderful_ play..." He cut off the words with a blush.

Poking his shoulder, Jeanie assumed a mock-stern expression, "I sense a 'but' there, young man."

Cloud winced, "I don't want to step on your toes, mom, and _G-d_ do I love the ending you wrote... but you've gotta change it."

The mock-stern expression quickly became real and Jeanie crossed her arms over her chest. She'd lived with this story for so long in her head just _begging_ to be written... now that she finally had it on paper, the last thing she wanted to do was change one of her favorite parts. Still... her son did have an eye for those sorts of things, and he _was_ planning on studying theatre in college next year... Sighing, Jeanie gestured at him, "Well, go on, then. Explain."

With another apologetic look, he handed her a few pieces of handwritten loose-leaf, "I figured it would be easier to just show you."

Jeanie threw both hands in the air then grabbed the papers and grumbled herself over to the couch to sit down and read them. Twenty minutes later, once over the initial shock enough to reread her son's alterations, she grudgingly had to admit that what he'd written was good. It was _very_ good. But that didn't mean she had to like it. Turning to face her son, she shook the papers at him, "It can't end like this! Claude, it just **can't**. It's not true and it's too sad!"

Cloud shook his head as he settled down next to her on the couch, "But mom... it has to. You lose the entire impact of the tragedy you've built if you give it a happy ending. And I know it didn't happen that way in real life... but this isn't a biography or a history text. It's a play. It doesn't matter." With an impish grin, he added, "Haven't you ever heard of artistic license?"

Frowning, Jeanie clung to the one thing she knew he couldnt shoot down, "But it can't end this sad. It's OK for everyone to leave the theatre with something to think about... it's _not_ OK for them to leave depressed."

Cloud sat and thoughtfully tapped his chin for a moment, then smiled broadly, "OK, I got it. Bring him back out in the original costume at the end, throw in encores of some of the more upbeat songs and then invite the audience up on stage to dance with the actors!" Seeing his mother about to spew out a thousand reasons why they couldn't do that, he held up a hand, "No, really! It'll work. You've already broken down the fourth wall -- multiple times and _very_ skillfully done, I might add -- so by doing this, you can have your tragic ending for the audience to go home and think about, yet still have your taste of cheer at the end so they leave happy. Right?" Seeing his mother ready to cave in, he grinned, "And it'll be unique. I can't think of any other show that does something like this. It'll help yours stand out."

Jeanie turned her eyes back to the papers in her hand, giving them a thoughtful frown as she skimmed back through them. Finally she nodded, a small smile starting at the corner of her lips, "I... like it." At her son's incredulous look, her smile widened, "Really, truly, Claude. You're right. I don't want to admit it, but you're right. It'll lose too much impact if I end it the other way. There's only one problem..."

Cloud raised an eyebrow as he leaned forward, "Oh? I thought we tackled all the big ones. What could possibly be left?"

Jeanie winced as she took the rest of the manuscript back, "If I end it this way... he's gonna _kill_ me."

Cloud met her eyes for a moment, then broke up into laughter. When he finally sobered, all he had to say was, "Yeah... good luck with that. How about you warn me before you tell him, so I can be somewhere else... like Australia."

Jeanie covered her face with her hands and let out a small moan, "Only if I can join you there." At least she still had edits to do... and her agent still had to find someone willing to fund and produce the damned thing... If she was lucky and played her cards right, she might not have to tell him for another year or two! Maybe by then she'd have figured out how to do it. But Australia wasn't a bad back-up plan... just in case.

* * *

**A/N:**

I know that wasn't much to start you off with. Part 1 is on the way, don't worry. ^_^ 

_Coming Soon:_ An unwelcome situation at school leaves Claude feeling trapped and more than a little panicked. Berger sees it coming and goes to Crissy for help... and that action backfires in more ways than one.


	2. Chapter 2

**_March 18, 2010:_** I already babbled enough today. No more babbling for me.

**_Warnings:_** Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh.

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much...))_

_

* * *

  
_

**_Let the Sun Shine In -- Part 1_**  
by _Renee-chan  
_

Berger sighed as he kicked at a pebble in front of him on the street. Claude was at work, as usual. Crissy was at the hospital, as usual. Jeanie was home working on G-d-knows-what, as usual. Hell, even Cloud was occupied with school... as usual. Normally he didn't mind occupying himself for the eight hours or so that he was home alone, but lately, he'd been bored. He'd been edgy.

Claude was understanding about it and generally was willing to drag all over creation with him in the hopes of finding something to catch his interest, but he hated to do that to the other man. Teaching was draining work and poor Claudio had been having a rough go of it the last year or two. His freshly returned memories of Viet Nam had not been easy to handle and now, 15 years after the fact, was not the best time to be dealing with them. When Claude had finally agreed to let him help, Berger had gone to the library and done some research. The constant nightmares, Claude's depressive episodes every time it rained and the occasional flashbacks that Berger _knew_ he was having even if he wouldn't admit it... it added up into a picture that he didn't like. And he was doing his best to help, really he was... but he was no psychiatrist! He wasn't trained, he really didn't know what he was doing and Claude wouldn't go to anyone else for help. Hell, he wouldn't even talk to Crissy and she was a nurse!

He kicked at the pebble again. It wasn't a surprise that Claude was suffering from PTSD -- hell, he probably had been from minute one when he got back from Viet Nam -- but if Berger couldn't help him and he wouldn't go to anyone else to get the help he needed... they were running out of options. And Berger could feel the Bridge looming over them every time Claude shut him out. It was bad, badbadbad, and he didn't know what to do about it. And what was even more frustrating was that there were whole _centers_ now, made just to help Viet Nam veterans with problems like this... but they didn't do any good if you couldn't get the person who needed the help to actually _go_ to one. It was enough to drive him batty.

Ironically enough, other than he and Crissy, Cloud seemed to be the only one who saw the problem. The kid had an uncanny level of insight where his almost-father was concerned. No one else seemed to notice -- then again, for those who might, Claude probably still seemed totally sane compared to his partner -- they didn't see Sheila often enough, Jeanie was oblivious to everything other than the fact that Claude was alive and most of the other Tribe members they'd seen since Claude's return just didn't know them well enough anymore to see it. He'd thought that at least Hud would see. He'd been in Viet Nam too, after all... but he never seemed to want to touch the subject. Every time the conversation started to veer that way, Claude's eyes would glaze and Hud would abruptly redirect things. He probably thought he was helping, but from what Berger had been reading, avoidance wasn't the right way to deal with this. But what the hell did he know, right?

Clenching his hands in his hair, Berger gave it an almost savage tug. It was times like these that he almost wished it was still he, Claude _and_ Sheila. Sheila had always had a way of cutting through the crap and making you face the problem that he could _really_ use right now. Pausing in his walk, he turned that thought over. Well... why _couldn't_ he ask Sheila to come? They were friends, right? Friends saw each other, didn't they? And hadn't she been saying just last month that her older daughter wanted to see New York? Wicked smile blooming, Berger changed directions to head over to the hospital where Crissy worked. Before planning something like this, it always paid to get a second opinion... even if it was one you knew you could influence.

* * *

"OK, everyone! Pencils down. Please hand in your test papers," Claude said. The immediate collection of groans from around the classroom made him want to bang his head against the desk. Instead, he said, "Whether you're done or not, boys and girls. The period's over and just because it's the last one of the day doesn't mean you get any extra time." After some shuffling around and one or two thrown pencils, Claude's 9th period class rose from their seats to place their test papers in a disorganized pile on the corner of his desk.

The last few weeks had been beyond frustrating. He'd been asked to take over a class from another teacher. It was a new class, an elective that had been introduced this year as a testing ground for a new style of teaching, based more on group work and open discussion than lecturing. They'd even opened it to students in all grades in the interest of cooperative education. The school board really wanted it to succeed. Unfortunately, that put a lot of pressure on the one stuck teaching it. Stacy, being only part-time to begin with, had been the unlucky one chosen and had not been doing a great job with it. The students had complained, their parents had complained and the Board had answered those complaints by rearranging schedules for the second semester so they could swap out teachers. Claude, having the unfortunate distinction of being both low man on the totem _and_ extremely popular with the students, had been the lucky one chosen. He'd tried to beg his way out of it, tried to find some reason to give for why he couldn't teach it, but in the end, the principal had put her foot down. This was her baby and she wanted to give it the best chance that she could... and like it or not, Claude Bukowski was its best chance. So, now he was teaching a class in U.S. government and foreign policy... and it's applications to recent history. It was rapidly becoming a living nightmare. The truly sad thing, though? Three years ago, he not only wouldn't have had a problem with this class, he'd have been excited as all hell at the chance to teach it.

He tidied up the pile of test papers and pulled out his briefcase to tuck them safely away. He couldnt wait to get home and so it was with some dismay that he heard the soft, hesitant voice speak up from the back of the classroom, "Mr. Bukowski...?"

Claude let out a small sigh as he closed his briefcase, "Yes, Ms. Weber? What is it?"

When he looked up it was to catch the girl anxiously shuffling her feet back and forth and gripping her books so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Finally she managed to get out, "I don't think I did so well on the test, Mr. Bukowski." Eyes red-rimmed, she looked as though she might cry, "I can't get another failing grade. My father will be so angry."

Claude walked around his desk and over to the distraught girl. He got her to sit down at one of the desks and then pulled a chair over to sit beside her, "Calm down, Julie. No one's failing anything, just yet." At her miserable head shake, Claude sighed, mentally giving up his early day, "Why don't we just take a look and see how you did, all right?"

He got up from the chair and went back to his own desk at the front of the room. Pulling out the stack of test papers, Claude quickly found Julie's and sat down to grade it. As he went through her answers, he couldn't help but feel a small sinking in the pit of his stomach. The girl hadn't failed, but it had been a very close thing. She quite obviously hadn't grasped the material.

Pulling out two other tests at random, he compared those with Julie's. What he found was much the same. With an indistinctly muttered curse, he deliberately looked through the stack of tests to find Kelly Donovan's. Kelly was one of the brightest students in class -- he ought to know, she was also in his freshman World History class. If anyone had done well, she had.

Ignoring Julie Weber's anxious fidgeting, Claude went over Kelly's test paper with a fine-toothed grading comb. It was with a sick flip to his stomach that he realized that, in her own way, Kelly had done no better than the rest of the class. She'd gotten an 84... but for a student that usually scored 98s, that wasn't exactly redeeming. Dropping his pen on the desk, Claude rubbed his hands over his face.

After a minute of unhappy silence, Julie finally spoke up, "Mr. Bukowski...?"

Claude finally managed to look back up at the girl and paste a smile onto his face, "Don't worry about it, Julie. You weren't the only one to have difficulty with this test. Why don't you go on home and we'll all discuss it in class on Monday?"

Unhappiness written into every line of her body, the girl gathered up her belongings and left. Deciding that he may as well get it over with, Claude finished going through the rest of the tests and nearly threw his own pen across the room when he was done. He was a _good_ teacher. He really was. So why was he having so much trouble teaching one damned elective?

If Claude were being honest with himself, he'd admit that he knew exactly why. The class had started out fairly well. They'd started with a brief review of the first half of the 20th century to give them a base to understand the concepts that they'd cover and the way they were going to do it. Then they'd launched into the Korean war and he had been more than in his element. The students were attentive and actively participating, they were doing well on tests and his principal was thrilled. He'd actually found himself enjoying it. It wasn't until they started the discussions on the Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban Missile Crisis, that he realized exactly how big of a problem he was going to have teaching this class. In a moment of almost blind panic, he'd suddenly remembered that the largest U.S. foreign policy issue of the late 20th century -- the topic that would take up the bulk of the rest of the semester -- would be the Viet Nam War. Three years ago, teaching that material hadn't been any harder than teaching about World War I or the Revolutionary War. It hadn't been personal then. Now it was. It was _very_ personal and he was too scared of his own memories to delve any deeper into that history than he had to. And that... that was a problem. He couldn't teach this class the way it was intended to be taught if he couldn't sink his teeth into the topic and pull out its inner workings for the class to examine. It was no wonder that his students were floundering... he was, too.

A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his musings. The gentle voice that queried, "Hey, anyone alive in here?" even brought a small smile to his face.

Raising his head from where it had dropped into his hands, Claude met the other teacher's gaze with his own weary one, "Yeah, Walter. I'm alive. Just temporarily wishing I wasn't."

With a frown, the older man joined him in the classroom. Snagging one of the desk chairs, he flipped it around and straddled it, "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, you've looked a little wrung out this year. You ready to tell me what's eating at you?"

With a tired laugh, Claude started rubbing at his temples again, "Oh man, Walter... where do I even start?"

The other teacher's frown deepened, "That bad, huh?"

A sigh, "Yes. That bad. The really ironic thing is that it was getting _better_. But now..." Waving a hand at the test papers strewn across his desk, Claude angrily bit out, "What the hell does it say about me as a teacher when I'm handing out 84s to Kelly Donovan?"

Walter let out a low whistle. He had the girl for English and knew she was sharp as a tack. He slowly shook his head, "OK, I have to agree, that isn't so good. This is the class you took over from Stacy, isn't it?"

Claude nodded, "Yes, it is, but that doesn't have anything to do with it."

Cutting him off with a slicing motion, Walter interrupted, "Sure it does. You took over the class mid-year, you're not entirely comfortable with the curriculum and your class schedule was overloaded to begin with. Also, no one's at their best come last period. It'll get better."

With a sigh, Claude started gathering up the graded papers again, "I don't think it'll be that easy, Walter. It's not just the timing of the class or that it's new." Resting his head on his briefcase, Claude sighed, "It's the class itself."

Walter's eyes narrowed, "How do you mean?"

Claude raised his head, "The entire focus of this class is on U.S. foreign policy in the latter half of the 20th century. Reviewing the World Wars was a snap. Covering Korea was easy, too -- hell, I think I was even enjoying it. I _should_ have been able to do the Cold War without a problem, too. It's just that I know what comes after that... and the thought of having to teach it has me scared witless." With a miserable look, Claude dropped his head back into his hands, "There are reasons that I prefer to teach early history these days."

Walter paused for a moment, contemplating the dejected figure in front of him. He wasn't much of a history buff himself, but he'd lived through those events. Korea... Cold War... what came next? In a flash of insight, he finally put it together. What came next? Viet Nam came next. And Claude was just about the right age... Walter had assumed that, as with so many other teachers Claude's age, he had used college as a way to avoid the war, but maybe he'd been wrong... "You fought in 'Nam, didn't you?"

Claude's entire body jerked in reaction to that question, but he nodded, "I did."

Walter let out a low whistle. He'd been an enlisted air force man during Korea, but most of his time in the service had been spent Stateside and in Japan. He'd had a few very brief tours in Korea but really hadn't spent much time on the ground there. All told, he'd gotten off easily. Reaching a hand out, he gently gripped Claude's shoulder, "You enlisted?"

Claude let out a small snort, "Not exactly." Sitting back in his chair, Claude ran his hands through his hair, "I made the, in retrospect, unbelievably stupid decision to drop out of high school a third of the way into my senior year. The draft board caught up to me the next fall." Now that he'd gotten started, he couldn't seem to stop, "My friends, they all burned their draft cards. They'd rather have landed in jail or spent the rest of their lives in Canada than go to war. But _stupid_ me... I couldn't do it. Seeing that disappointment in my father's eyes every time I came home... and worse, the _pride_ in his eyes when he started telling his friends that I was going to Viet Nam to protect our country... I just couldn't do it. So I let myself get picked up. I let myself get shipped over there. A year and a half in that hell-hole... and I'd thought it couldn't get any worse."

"I was wrong."

Walter's breath caught at the dead tone to his young friend's voice. He'd heard that tone before. Letting his head drop, he whispered, "You were a POW, weren't you?"

A bitter chuckle, "An entire damned year, Walter. Maybe that's not much compared to the men that were captive for five years or more, but believe me... it was long enough." Another bitter laugh escaped him, "The true irony is that I didn't remember any of it until last year." At Walter's confused look, he elaborated, "When they rescued me, I had nearly complete amnesia. I had a few memories of my childhood and that was it. Nothing of my youth, nothing of my time in Viet Nam. Everyone I'd known, everyone I'd loved... gone in the blink of an eye."

"When I came home, my parents told everyone who'd known me that I was dead, packaged me up and took me to Kansas. I lived there for about twelve years before I found out exactly how much of my life they'd taken away from me. That's when I came back here. With some help from an old friend, I recovered most of my memory of the time before I was drafted, but nothing of my time in Viet Nam." He paused, "And believe you me, I'd have been extremely happy to _never_ get that back. Thing is... it doesn't work that way. Last year, those memories started coming back, too." Dropping his head back onto his arms, Claude shuddered, "It's too fresh, Walter. I can't dredge all that up in front of my class. I just might end up trapped in a flashback, tucked under my desk, screaming like a lunatic." That last came out in a tight whisper.

The older man put his hand back on Claude's shoulder and gave him an awkward pat, "Might not be as bad as all that, Claude. You might do just fine."

Claude shook his head with a small, bitter laugh, "Yeah. And pigs might fly." He sighed, "I'll figure it out somehow, Walter. It's not like I have a choice. Switching teachers on this class again would be its death knell and this is Loretta's baby. She's not going to let that happen. Besides, she's counting on me... and I don't have tenure, yet."

Walter frowned as he watched the younger teacher start to gather up his belongings, "Well... you just let me know if there's anything I can do, all right?"

Claude smiled, "I will. Don't you worry about that."

Feeling far from easy, Walter accompanied his friend out of the building, only splitting off from him as they reached the parking lot -- Claude to the streets to walk to the subway, Walter to his car. There might not be much he could do, but he'd be there, whatever it took to get his friend through this. Worst case scenario, _he'd_ talk to Loretta. They'd taught together for years until she'd gotten this posting as principal... and _he_, at least, already had tenure.

* * *

When Claude got home, he was ready to curl up with Berger and just forget the day had happened. Unfortunately, he wasn't to be allowed that easy an escape. When he got back to their apartment, Berger had company. Claude thought it would be harder to find a smile, but for the petite brunette curled up in one corner of the couch it was easier than with most, "Crissy, I didn't know you were coming over..." Leaning over Berger's armchair, he brushed a kiss against the other man's temple, "I'd have stopped and picked up take-out on the way home if I did."

Crissy just shook her head, "You don't have to go to that kind of trouble for me, Claude, you know that." Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiled, "Berger had stopped by to see me at the hospital yesterday and we didn't really have time to talk then, so I promised him I'd stop by today if I got off early enough."

Claude instantly stilled at those words, "The hospital?" Frowning down at his partner, he asked, "What were you doing at the hospital?"

Berger opened his mouth to answer -- to come up with a believable lie, more likely, with that particular look on his face -- but Crissy ran right over him, "I asked him to." Claude tossed her an incredulous look, but she seemed completely unruffled. Settling himself on the arm of Berger's chair with his coat draped over his lap, he indicated that she should continue. Without a missed beat, she did, "I'd wanted to talk to him about helping me out with a patient."

Claude blinked, then raised an eyebrow, "Reeeeally."

Bright smile slipping, she continued, "Kind of a sad story, actually. There's this girl, not more than 15 years old, that got picked up by children's services earlier this week. I don't know her full history, but she was brought in for a drug overdose. There's some question about custody and whether or not she'll be returned to her parents... but regardless, this kid's in trouble and I can't reach her. She's just so _angry_ at everything." Indicating Berger with a nod of her head, she added, "I thought maybe talking to him might help, since you name it, he's been through it... and she won't talk to any of us."

They met each other's eyes for a minute as Claude evaluated what she'd said. Oh, she was telling the truth about the girl, that was obvious enough, but he had an inkling that her decision to involve Berger had been spur-of-the-moment and for his benefit. But random cover story or not... it was actually a good idea. He turned his gaze downward to take in his lover's expression. For the first time in a long time... he looked interested. Breath catching at the sheer intensity in Berger's gaze that he'd missed for so long, Claude made the abrupt decision to let it go. Neither of these people would hurt him, so whatever they'd been up to, he'd just have to trust that it wasn't something bad. It would be worth it if Crissy managed to spark _any_ kind of an interest in his partner -- especially one where he could potentially do so much good. Gripping Berger's shoulder gently, he said, "I think that's a great idea." When Berger looked up at him, a confused expression on his face, Claude smiled, "I happen to know first-hand how persuasive you can be. You knocked me off the path of alcoholism before I'd barely taken the first step."

That vulnerable look in Berger's eyes was going to kill him. Taking Claude's hand from his shoulder to hold it in one of his, he pressed his face against it, "You really think I could help her?"

Claude used his grip to raise Berger's hand to plant a kiss across the knuckles, "I _know_ you could." Claude lifted his other hand to thread through Berger's hair, "You seem to have forgotten a lot of what you were like when we were kids, Berger. Don't worry. I haven't. You could persuade anyone to do anything, even if it was against their better judgment -- even if they knew it was wrong, it didn't matter. We'd have done anything for you."

Berger's voice was a harsh whisper as he interrupted, "Not everyone. Not everything." At Claude's answering frown, he continued, "I couldn't convince you to stay." Eyes steeling with determination, he ran over Claude's objection, "I couldn't. I tried my hardest, I really did, but I couldn't do it. You left... and you got hurt..." Rising to his feet, he met Claude's eyes with a sense of desperation -- like this might be the last chance he had to convince the other man, "And you need more help than I can give you. Claudio, you _know_ you do. But I can't convince you of _that_, either."

Caught by the pain in his lover's eyes, Claude almost couldn't look away. When he finally did, he looked over at Crissy who had risen from the couch and taken a step towards them. He ducked his gaze as he let out a weak chuckle, "Oh... So _that's_ the real reason you went to talk to Crissy." Raising eyes that held just a hint of betrayal, he asked bitterly, "We've finally reached the point where I need an intervention?"

Seeing that as her cue, Crissy finally finished approaching them, "No, Claude. This isn't an intervention. Berger asked me, as a friend, to help him figure out what to do to help you. I just got here too late and you walked into the middle of it. You know what's wrong with you, Claude -- you're a smart man and you've taught this history. You also know that ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. The thing is, it's one thing to decide for yourself that you'd rather suffer than admit you need help... it's another thing entirely to ask the people who love you to suffer with you."

Claude opened his mouth to object and Berger started waving his hands at her to get her to stop, but Crissy was on a roll and she wasn't stopping -- she'd kept these words behind her teeth for too long already, "Berger will never admit it to you, so I'm going to tell you a plain, simple truth, Claude -- you're hurting him. He just told you he feels like he failed you because he couldn't convince you to stay... and now feels that doubly so because he can't convince you to get the help you need to deal with the aftermath. It's _not_ his fault," that last said with a pointed look in Berger's direction, "but that doesn't really matter if he _feels_ like it is. And what you can do to help... to help _both_ of you... is _get_ help. OK?"

Feeling more than a little bruised, Claude got up from the chair arm and turned away from the two of them. Coming on top of his problems at school today it was all just a little too much, but... Crissy was right. Needing some excuse to step away for a minute, he walked back over to the coat rack and hung up his coat. He fidgeted with the lay of the collar for a minute, grateful for the silence being held behind him. Why _hadn't_ he agreed when Berger tried to drag him to the veterans' center? He still didn't really know. Logically, he knew it was the right thing to do. Hud had even privately admitted to him that _he'd_ gone once they opened one in Manhattan. So, if Detective Hud Johnson could admit that he needed that kind of help... why couldn't he?

Heart beating hard against his ribcage, he turned back to face the worried stares of his friends, "I..." He swallowed hard, "I know..." He turned his head away again, a self-deprecating laugh slipping from his lips, "Did you know that I got suckered into teaching a new class this semester?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he could hear the frown in Crissy's voice, but didn't turn to look.

He laughed again, a somewhat brittle sound, "Everything, Crissy... everything. It's a class on U.S. government and foreign policy in the 20th century. And half my students are failing the current unit because I'm too afraid of the damned material to actually _teach_ it." Tearing the tie from his shoulder-length hair so he could bury his hands in it, he gave it a harsh tug, "**Fuck**."

Berger stepped around the chair and walked up to him. He pulled Claude's hands down from his hair and gathered the other man into a gentle hug. Claude clung to him for all he was worth. Berger just ran gentle hands down his back and made shushing noises, "I didn't want to upset you more. I just... You told me that you think I've forgotten what I was like when we were younger. Well, I could say the same thing about you, Claudio. And just like you said before -- _you_ may have forgotten, but _I_ haven't. You always felt things deeply, but in a way... you were more brave about it than anyone I know. Sheila and I used to joke about how loving you was like riding a roller coaster -- you never knew from one minute to the next if you were going up or down, but it was a fun ride either way. Problem is, Claude... these days we've been plunging straight down without a turn in sight. You don't smile anymore, not really, anyway... not those sparkling, heart-stopping numbers you used to throw at me all the time. I _miss_ them. I miss knowing that as serious and twisted up as you could get yourself, you were still always ready to let me drag you out of it to have an adventure." Leaning back to catch Claude's eyes, Berger smiled gently, "You'll never be exactly who you were when you were 18. No one ever is. But... I think I left my stomach up at the top when we started this drop and I'm ready to swoop back upwards to pick it up... OK?"

Claude tucked his head into the crook of Berger's neck and tried to fight off the tears that had tried to start halfway through that little speech. Knowing he was defeated and not entirely sure if he was disappointed about it, Claude nodded, "OK."

Berger's hands stilled in their movement, "Really, Claudio? You're not just saying that?"

With a mild snort, Claude raised his head from his lover's shoulder, "No, Karma-Berger. I'm not just saying that. Because you're right. You've been right all along." Tossing an ironic look over Berger's shoulder in Crissy's direction he added, "I just needed a little help to see it, I guess."

Crissy smiled back and said tartly, "By which you mean you're giving in because you don't want to have a flashback in school while you're teaching and can't think of any other way to avoid one."

"I'm not having flashbacks," the response was automatic and Claude couldn't have bitten it back if he'd tried, but he did duck his head after saying it.

Now it was Crissy's turn to snort, "The _hell_ you're not! Claude, I've seen you have one! So has Berger, so has Cloud, so has Hud. You may have thought you were fooling us, but give your friends credit for knowing you better than that."

Claude buried his face back in Berger's neck to hide the resultant blush, "I know, I know... I'm sorry. It was a knee-jerk response."

Berger sighed as he cradled Claude against him, "So you _are_ having flashbacks. I knew it. When you kept denying it, I started to doubt... but I've had enough of my own and I thought I recognized the signs." At Claude's incredulous look, Berger explained, "Well, mine are from drugs, not from PTSD, but a flashback's a flashback." With a small laugh, he added, "At least mine are interesting and full of pretty colors."

Claude stared at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. It was hysteria-tinged, but after all that intensity, it was desperately needed. After he calmed down, Berger let him retreat into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. By the time he came back, Berger was holding out his coat. Claude's face paled, "_Now?_"

Crissy paused in the act of putting on her own coat, "**Now**, Claude. If you give yourself tonight to think about it, it'll only make it worse. We are _not_ going through this again in the morning."

"Right... right," he mumbled. Looking up to meet Berger's eyes he saw only understanding, love and support. It was enough. It was enough to get him into his coat. It was enough to get him down to the street. It was enough to get him into the taxi that they'd called while he'd been washing up. He just hoped it would be enough to get him the rest of the way, too.

* * *

**A/N:**

O_O Too tired. So, just the usual request for...

Questions, comments, coconuts?

_Coming Soon:_ With a little help from his friends, Claude finally manages to face down the demons of his past and in so doing, pass on a bit of his own legacy to his students.


	3. Chapter 3

**_March 19, 2010:_** OK... I know I put a general angst warning on this whole fic, but that goes especially so for this part. Bring tissues -- I know _I_ needed them. :-P

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much...))_

**_Warnings:_** Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh.

* * *

**_Let the Sun Shine In -- Part 2_**  
by _Renee-chan_

Claude stared at the door to his classroom, trying not to let the fear show. He'd had that discussion with his class a few weeks ago, gone over the material, then assured them that the test would be graded on a curve. Everyone had been relieved. More importantly than that, he'd talked Walter into going to talk to the principal with him. It had been difficult, but he'd explained the situation and told her what he was doing to try to get help. To his utter shock, rather than being angry, she'd been horrified that he hadn't told her sooner. Together, they came up with a plan. By rearranging the course syllabus to include a unit on the Civil Rights movement (an important time in U.S. recent history, although not technically a foreign policy decision), they had bought him some time. She had then assured him that if, when he got to the segment on Viet Nam, he really felt he couldn't teach it... _she_ would. And now, that time had come. He was more than half-tempted to just go running to her office and tell her he couldn't do it. He'd only barely begun the process of healing, after all. Three weeks wasn't a lot of time.

That Saturday, like he did every week, he'd gone to the Veterans' Center for his group meeting. It still unnerved him... going there. Every time he walked through those doors he had to fight an overwhelming sense of shame that he couldn't get through this alone. After only one week, he'd tried to duck out of going to the group sessions altogether. Berger hadn't let him. He'd dragged him there in spite of his protests. And that week, Hud and Dionne were waiting for them at the door. Hud had taken his elbow, waved jauntily at Dionne and Berger and said, "Thanks for the delivery, I'll take it from here." Claude had been outwardly mortified, yet secretly glad for the unexpected show of support.

It still wasn't easy, but it was getting better. Opening up the line of communication between he and Hud had helped more, still. The man was becoming a good friend, even better than he'd been before the war. And it helped that Claude had overheard Dionne thanking Berger for the renewed relationship, too. Apparently, even with 14 more years of practice dealing with it, Hud hadn't been faring much better than he had been... but now, needing to show support for Claude, he'd thrown himself back into it like he was on a mission. And the benefits were showing for both of them.

That still wasn't getting him across the threshold of the classroom. That Saturday he'd spoken with his counselor about it, trying to get some sort of easy suggestion for how to get through this. To his dismay, there wasn't one. The only thing she'd been able to suggest was to have someone he trusted in the room the first time that he delved into those memories. The only problem was that the person he _wanted_ there, _couldn't_ be there. If he did have a flashback and Berger did pull him out of it, he knew himself well enough to know that he'd end up wrapped up in Berger's arms... and how the hell would he explain it to the school board? The times weren't as open or as accepting as they'd been in the 60s or even the 70s. It could get them both in a lot of trouble and could lose him his job. No. As much as he wished it could be, it couldn't be Berger.

Looking up, he saw the familiar form of Walter Erickson approaching from down the hall. When his friend reached his side, he put a hand on Claude's shoulder, "Word is you might need some support in the classroom, today. Will I do?"

Feeling an avalanche of relief, he nodded, "You'll do nicely, Walter. Thanks."

Patting Claude's shoulder, he smiled broadly, "Then let's get you set up, shall we?" Pushing open the classroom door, he gestured for the younger man to enter. Still feeling a thrill of fear at the prospect, he did. He was really going to do this. He was really going to... He froze in the doorway, heart trip hammering in his chest. He couldn't. He really couldnt do this...

A bright young voice piped up from behind him, "You know, Mr. Bukowski, my dad's always telling me that I make a better door than a window, but you're doing a pretty poor job at both. Can I get past?"

That was the jolt he needed to get moving. All but jumping out of the way, Claude turned to look at Kelly as, with a flounce of her short, blonde hair, she bounced into the classroom. The girl never went sedately anywhere. When she reached her seat, she turned and gave him a beaming smile, "First, as usual!"

Claude found a smile for her somewhere as he went to his desk and put down his briefcase, "Not so difficult when you're off 8th period, I suppose."

The girl frowned, "Can I help it if I'm excited? I _like_ your class."

He still hadn't thought of an answer for her by the time the rest of the class filed in. He forewent his usual greetings as they made their way to their seats, still frantically trying to figure out if he was up to doing this. He still hadn't decided by the time the bell rang. The class started a general low level of chit-chat, trying to figure out what was going on. Walter raised an eyebrow at him from the back of the class, silently asking if he needed to step in. With a small head shake, Claude turned him down. Instead, he cleared his throat and started to talk.

"I'm sure you've all been wondering why we spent the last few weeks covering the civil rights movement when it wasn't in the original course syllabus." Ignoring the shouted, "Darned right!" from the back of the classroom, Claude continued talking, "I'm going to tell you why. I'm also going to tell you some other things -- things that, until now, I've told very few." Swallowing hard, he paused, "I'm going to tell you right now, though... this isn't going to be easy for me. I may not be able to do it at all and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me get through it without interrupting." Meeting each of his students' gazes in turn, he asked, "Can you do that?"

Sensing the sudden serious turn their teacher had taken, there was a brief spate of murmuring, then almost as one the class nodded. Julie Weber, surprisingly, was the one who answered him, "You're always here for us, Mr. Bukowski. The least we can do is be here for you in return."

Smiling a grateful smile, Claude ducked his head for a moment before looking back up at his students, "Thank you. All of you. Why don't you all bring your chairs up here and put them in a semi-circle?" Before anyone could question, he held up a hand, "Trust me, you don't need to take notes for this... and I think I'd rather have you closer," then he pulled his own chair out from behind his desk and sat down, waiting for the rest to do the same. Start out easy... get them on the same page, first, then get to the hard stuff.

Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the room full of attentive faces. Seeing the ready support in all their eyes, he almost smiled. Finally, he started talking, "Before we launch into the whys and wherefores of the Viet Nam War, I thought we'd take a day to set the tone. I needed more time to prepare for it than I thought I would need and that's why we took that side trip into the civil rights movement. That's also why the last unit we went through before it was so painful." He paused, then continued, "This isn't something you'll hear an adult admit to often, so pay attention." Looking at each in turn, he said, "I'm afraid." At the instant murmuring reaction, he held up a hand, "Most of you were babies, if you were even alive at all, during the Viet Nam era. I wasn't. I was your age, then. And my experiences during those years left a definite mark on me. I'm ashamed to admit that I've only just recently started trying to deal with it, but it's true. I don't know if I'll be able to get through this and I don't know how much I'll be able to tell you, but I'm going to try."

Seeing nothing but support in the eyes of his students, Claude swallowed hard, breathing ragged for a moment before he got it back under control, "So, we're going to start small and see how it goes. First we're going to take a mental trip back to 1967, because that was the year I went through all this." He cleared his throat, "I want you to look around the room. Of the 21 of you here, 15 of you are seniors. Of those 15, 9 of you are men. For argument's sake, let's say you're all 18." Standing up, he started walking around the half circle and randomly divided the nine senior boys into three groups, getting them to stand in the front of the classroom. Turning back to the rest of the class, he said, "All nine of these people were eligible to be drafted." Turning back to the class, he asked, "What do you think that means?"

Tony, one of the juniors, spoke up first, "It means that they could be called up to fight, even if they didn't want to join the army."

Claude nodded, "What else?"

Maryanne, one of the senior girls, spoke up next, "It means they should go to college." When the class snickered, she assumed an affronted look, "It's true! There were ways to get around the draft. If you were in college, you didn't have to go. That's how my uncle got out of it."

Claude smiled, tricked into enjoying the moment thanks to the attitude of his class. He smiled at Maryanne, "You have made an excellent point, Maryanne. While there were other ways to legally avoid the draft -- being the sole provider for a family, for example -- educational deferments were the most popular." Turning to one of the groups of three, he waved them back to their seats, "Congratulations. The three of you were accepted to college and were smart enough to actually go. You aren't going to be drafted this year, but we reserve the right to call you after you graduate. Go sit down." Even in this mock setting, Claude noted how fast the three moved. As they sat down, Julie grabbed Mark Edelstein's hand. Not bothering to act embarrassed, he slouched in his seat and squeezed back.

Claude walked up behind them and put a hand on each student's shoulder, "Not that I want to single the two of you out, but I wanted to point out something that you just so ably demonstrated." Holding up their joined hands, he said, "This, right here, is the most important thing you need to understand about the late 60s." Waving a hand to include the other two who had all but run back to their seats, as well, Claude said, "The fear of the draft was an overwhelming and terrifying reality of life. From 1967 on, about 300,000 men were drafted each year until the draft ended in the 70s. Every man between the age of 18 and 26 that couldn't claim a legitimate deferment lived in constant fear of finding that draft notice in their mailbox. And they weren't the only ones affected. All of their loved ones were, too."

Dropping Mark and Julie's hands, Claude walked back to the front of the classroom, thoughts turning inward, "You felt like you were living on borrowed time. You woke up every morning, wondering if this would be the day your parents would hand you that letter and tell you that since you couldn't find anything better to do with your life, you could at least spend that life serving your country. You went to bed every night, afraid to close your eyes for fear that once you did, you'd never see your friends again. You listened to the news every day, terrified to hear a friend's number come up... or to find out that he'd been killed overseas."

By this point, Claude had almost forgotten that there was even anyone else in the room. Voice roughened by emotion, he pressed on, "You've all heard about, and sometimes even envied, the counter-culture of the 60s -- the 'summer of love', the extensive drug use, the hippie 'rebellion'. But it wasn't some fantasy day camp. You did every stupid, self-destructive thing you could think of in the hopes that you'd damage yourself enough that the draft board wouldn't want you. You threw yourself into life as far as you could go, desperately hoping that if you were somehow still able-bodied at the end of it, you'd at least have lived enough of it to make up for what you would lose when your number eventually came up... because you knew it would." Hanging his head, Claude shuddered, "It always did."

The entire classroom was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Of course, it was Kelly Donovan who pushed the issue out into the open, "You talk like you know someone that happened to. Who did you know who got drafted, Mr. Bukowski?"

Shivering again, Claude whispered brokenly, "Me." Ignoring the collective gasp, Claude muttered, "Please excuse me for a minute," and fled to the back of the classroom. To their credit, not a single student moved.

When Claude reached the back of the room, he took in the sight that met his dull eyes with no small amount of shock. He had a bigger audience than just Walter, now. Loretta was there, tears shining bright in her eyes... and so was Cloud. He hadn't even heard them come in... The boy stood up and put a hand on his arm, "Little birdie told me what you were gonna do today and I figured you might want a friendly face around. Since Mrs. Marshall agreed with me, she wrote me a pass to get out of Calculus this period to be here, then tagged along."

Heart swelling with gratitude, Claude gripped the boy's hand in return, "Thanks."

Loretta Marshall took his other hand, her own trembling where it gripped his, "You don't have to do this, Claude. It's really OK. You can stop now. OK? I'll do the rest."

Claude took a deep breath and was on the verge of saying "Yes," when he happened to catch a glimpse of the class out of the corner of his eye. Seeing every single student still sitting in their seats, eyes glued to where he was standing, he made a very hard decision, very fast. Shaking his head, he said, "No." Turning to look at Cloud, he smiled a self-deprecating smile, "Berger and Crissy were right. I need to get this out before it poisons me for good and if I stop now, I don't know if I'll have the guts to start again." Turning back to the principal, he shook his head, "Besides, what sort of message does that send if I back out, now?" Not giving her a chance to answer, Claude made his way back to the front of the room.

Pulling his head forcibly back into the game, he turned back to the six boys still standing in the front of the room. Turning to one group of three, he separated them, pulling one away from the other two, "You got lucky, Will. You got your draft notice in the mail, but your number was way down on the lottery list. You didn't get called. Go sit down." Before doing so, the boy paused. Made daring by the unusual situation, he put a hand on Claude's shoulder and gave him an awkward pat. Claude found a smile for him as he sent him back to his seat.

Turning to the other two in Will's group, he cleared his throat, "Now, you two, you read about the war. You watched it on TV. Both of your fathers fought in World War II. One of you had a brother that won a medal of honor in Korea. You're also smart. You know that if you wait for the draft to get you, you'll get stuck in the army... maybe in the infantry. That's at least a 1 in 3 chance of a death sentence. And since you figure you'll be going no matter what you do, you'd rather go willingly and serve longer to decrease the chances of you dying. So you enlist in the Air Force or the Navy."

A voice rang out from the back of the classroom, "'One over all', kids! No one wants to be stuck on a boat for 6 months!"

Startled into a laugh, Claude turned to face Walter with an eyebrow raised, "It should be noted that Mr. Erickson served in the Air Force in Korea." Crossing his arms over his chest, he said dryly, "Maybe it should also be noted that you're all better behaved than he is and I'm extremely grateful for it." Waving the two selected boys to their seats, he commented, "I suppose that's what comes of having your head in the clouds." Wincing, he added, "No offense, Mr. Ryan."

Waving a hand back, Cloud tossed him a brilliant grin, "None taken, Mr. Bukowski. None taken."

Walter made a mild noise of protest as he grumped out, "Speak for yourself."

Claude was grateful for the moment of cheer before continuing. He turned back to the last group of boys, noting with mild sadness that they'd bunched together -- for protection or comfort, he couldn't have said -- but they clearly knew what was coming. Shaking his head, he walked over to them, "I'm sure you've figured it out by now. You three... you got drafted and your numbers got called." Putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder, Claude said, "You, my friend, decided that illegally or not, you were going to have no part of this draft business. You packed up your girlfriend and your record collection and moved to Canada. Ten years later, President Carter granted you, and every other draft dodger, a complete pardon, but by now you've gotten attached to your new country. You live there to this day, with your lovely wife and three daughters." Daniel looked like he wanted to hug him, but settled for gripping his shoulder tightly before fleeing to his seat.

Claude watched him for a minute as he was welcomed back to the group with a hearty round of backslaps and handshakes. Now it was time to bring it home... Turning back to the remaining two, he sighed, "Peter, Robert... I'm sorry to say that you two have my kind of luck, and unfortunately, also my overwhelming sense of responsibility. Maybe you were scared of prison. Maybe you couldn't imagine leaving this country with all its many freedoms." Voice again roughening, he added, "Maybe you just couldn't bear to disappoint your fathers in one more thing. Whatever it was, when you were drafted, you went meekly along. Your friends begged you not to. They cried over you. They held a huge be-in where they all burned their draft cards and urged you to do the same." Biting off a bitter chuckle, he said, "Maybe one of them even gave you an LSD laced joint in the hopes that you'd have such a bad trip that you'd consent to run away with him to Canada. Maybe you even proposed to one of them, desperate to have just a small piece of something normal to hang on to when you got shipped out. Maybe, instead of saying 'Yes,' she led a huge protest outside the induction center at 39 Whitehall Street to try to get the draft board to let you go."

Looking up and meeting each boy's eyes in turn, he said, "Whatever the case, you went." Turning to Robert, he said, "You went to Viet Nam, but you got lucky. You were smart and they recognized that. You wanted to be a doctor, so they got you medical training. You stayed back with the support troops and never saw much combat. You came home two years later with a cadre of horror stories, but you got help and you recovered. The Army paid for you to go to college and then you went on to medical school. You now have a thriving practice and you and your wife are expecting your first child in the spring." Swallowing hard, Robert _did_ hug Claude before returning to his seat.

For a moment, Claude couldn't look at Peter. He walked over to his desk and perched on the corner. Looking back at the rest of the class, he asked, "How many of you remember Peter? He was drafted five years ago and you haven't heard from him in a while." Nodding to the first three he'd sent back to their seats he said, "Dennis, Mark and Nate have graduated college and started building lives for themselves. It's 1972 and not only is the war winding down, but they've announced an end to the draft. From now on, we'll have an all-volunteer army. You're all safe."

"Will, also having been scared straight, moved to Los Angeles and started writing anti-war songs. He became very popular and most of you are going to see his next performance." Ignoring the high fives being traded in that corner, Claude turned to his two "Air Force boys". He smiled at the two of them, "Derek, you served out your time and made it home safely. You haven't settled down with the right girl yet, but you're having a blast with all the wrong ones and you're planning to write your memoirs." Some more high fiving, "Scott, you decided that you actually enjoyed military life and wanted to stay in. You're starting to work your way up in the ranks and your commanding officers are impressed enough that they've recommended you for officers' training."

A quiet voice piped up from behind him, "Mr. Bukowski... what happened to me? I thought Viet Nam tours were only a year or two for draftees..." There was a pause, then that voice filled with fear, "Oh my G-d. Am I _dead_?"

Scott, Derek and Robert lunged to their feet at that, all crying out, "No!"

Claude turned sad eyes on Peter as he walked back over to face him, "Nobody knows. About 19 months into your tour of duty, your squad was ambushed. 5 men were killed, 2 badly wounded. You, your squad leader and one other were captured by the Viet Cong and told you were Prisoners of War and that your government couldn't protect you... and worse, that they _wouldn't_ protect you." Eyes finally filling with tears, Claude all but choked on the last few words, "You don't want to know what they did to you after that. You're still listed as MIA."

Again, the class was so silent you could hear a pin drop and again, it was Kelly who broke that brittle silence, "You... Mr. Bukowski... You...?" In spite of her bravado, she couldnt seem to get the question out.

Wrenching his emotions under control, Claude waved Peter back to his seat. As he turned back to the rest of the classroom, he was heartened to notice that Scott, Derek and Robert had clustered around Peter as though to shield him from anything else Claude might decide to say. Several of the girls joined them in their group vigil. Good. At least he'd gotten through. At least... at least that made it worth it. He focused his eyes on Kelly and said quietly, "19 months, 1 week and 4 days into my tour of duty. They got me out 1 year, 2 weeks and 6 days later. I counted." The entire class leaned in to hear his quietly spoken words, "I had such severe post traumatic stress that I developed complete amnesia. Other than a few memories of my childhood, my entire life was gone... just _gone_. I didn't start to get it back until 1982."

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Claude out of his memories and helped him refocus on the present. Cloud was standing next to him, tears freely falling from his eyes. Once he had Claude's attention, he wrapped him in a tight hug, "After I read... G-d, I thought I understood. I didn't. I really didn't. I'm so sorry, Uncle Claude."

Gingerly returning his spiritual son's embrace, Claude again fought to get his emotions back under control. Turning a watery smile on Walter, he asked, "Isn't it almost time for the bell to ring?" Cloud let him go with a stifled snort.

Loretta cleared her throat, "Mr. Bukowski... the bell rang almost an hour ago."

Claude's jaw dropped and his face heated, "I'm sorry..."

Scott abruptly stood up, almost knocking his chair over backwards, "Don't you dare apologize, Mr. Bukowski. Don't you G-d damned dare." Claude stared wide-eyed at the boy, startled by his vehemence.

Derek was the next one on his feet, "I agree. You have nothing to apologize for. It took a lot of guts to get up in front of us and do what you just did. I don't think I'd have that kind of courage, especially if it was so fresh in my mind."

The next one up was Mark, "What you taught us today... Mr. Bukowski, you can't learn that kind of lesson from a history textbook. If you'd kept us _another_ two hours, it still would have been worth every second." With a small smile he added, "You were right, by the way. We didn't need to take notes. There's no way in hell I'm forgetting this class anytime soon."

Taking in the collection of nodding heads in front of him, Claude sank slowly into his seat. As each student collected their books and started filing out of the classroom, they paused by their teacher to either shake his hand or pat him on the back. One or two of the girls even hugged him. Claude took it all in with a numb sense of relief. He'd done it... he'd really done it. Feeling a small surge of hysteria, he clamped down hard on the laughter trying to fizz its way up from his stomach. Loretta approached him with a wry smile, "I hate to do this to you now, Claude... but I think you just officially got stuck with this elective until you retire."

Claude just gaped at her as she left the classroom, completely unable to form any kind of response. Fortunately for him, a noise at the window distracted him... and almost caused him to fall off his chair in shock. Finally finding his voice as he watched the dark-haired man climb in the window of his classroom, he almost squeaked, "_Berger_???"

Berger swung his legs down to the floor and sauntered over to wrap an arm around Claude's shoulders, "You didn't really think I was gonna miss this, did you?" Claude shook his head dumbly. Berger nodded in satisfaction, "Good. I'd hate to think that after all this time, you didn't know me better than that." Giving Claude a gentle squeeze, he continued, "I was all set to come flying in the window once or twice, but then you reeled it back in, so I stayed outside. But I figured you'd be about due for a severe case of the shakes once you were done and I didn't want you to have to get home on your own."

Walter's voice interrupted any response that Claude could have made, "OK, if I had to take a guess? This is either the friend who planned the shindig when you were supposed to burn your draft card... or he's the one who gave you the acid-laced joint and tried to convince you to run away to Canada with him."

Berger mock-frowned at Claude, "Claudio, I never said I laced that joint with LSD..."

Claude snorted as he turned to look Berger in the eyes, "Jesus H. Christ, Berger, you didn't _have_ to. The crazy shit I saw that night? There's no way in hell there was just pot in there!" Shoving the other man lightly in the shoulder, he added, "And knowing you like I do, I should have known better. I never should've taken that joint from you after what you said."

In response, Berger leaned his head on Claude's shoulder and gave him his very best innocent look, even batting his eyelashes for effect. Claude just gaped at him, then abruptly closed his mouth and gave Berger a stern look when his eyes strayed down from Claude's eyes to his now closed lips.

Laughing quietly at Berger's "who, me?" eyes, Walter leaned over to Cloud, "Do they do this often?"

Cloud just sighed and nodded, "That would be a 'Yes,' Mr. Erickson. A _definite_ 'Yes'." Rolling his eyes, Cloud commented, "Good grief, guys, get a room already."

At Cloud's oft-repeated anthem, Claude suddenly froze. For a moment, just for a moment, he'd forgotten where he was... and who he was with. Berger also froze, horrified realization growing in his eyes. Cloud bit off a curse. Walter, for his part, simple smiled like a recalcitrant puzzle piece had just fallen into place. Nodding sagely, he commented philosophically, "You know... I always wondered why you talked about your best friend like he was your spouse... Now, I know."

Eyes widening in panic, Claude backed up as far as Berger's arm would allow him. Walter smiled and walked over to pat him on the shoulder, "Relax, kid. I was around during the Summer of Love, too. You're not going to get any judgment or damnation from me and I don't tell tales. Your private life should stay exactly that -- _private_. You've earned it."

At Claude's increasingly glassy stare, Berger gently took his arm, "I appreciate it, and so does he... or he will when he's aware again. I'm gonna take him home so we can deal with the aftershocks this is gonna cause." Tossing Cloud a look over his shoulder he added, "Cloud, tell your mom that we'll try to make it to dinner, but I don't know if we will, OK?"

Cloud nodded, "Sure thing, Uncle Berger. We'll miss you if you don't show, but we'll definitely understand." At that affirmation, Berger got Claude's coat on him, then scooped up his briefcase and led him out of the classroom, muttering all the while about how much easier this would be if they could have just climbed back out the window.

Walter watched the two leave the classroom with a raised eyebrow. Under his breath he muttered, "And Claude always seemed so _normal_... How does a guy like him end up attached to someone like _that_?" At Cloud's abruptly leveled, narrow-eyed glare, Walter hastily explained, "Not that he doesn't seem like a nice enough guy, he's just... he's just..." He shrugged helplessly, unable to think of an accurate description that wouldn't be insulting.

Cloud's expression relaxed into a wry smile, "He's just Berger, Mr. Erickson. If it makes you feel any better, I've technically known him since I was in the womb and I don't understand him either." Smile softening, he added, "But the one thing I _do_ know about him is that he loves Uncle Claude with every fiber of his being... and Uncle Claude feels the same way about him. They've walked through hell and back for each other... twice. But that story's almost more depressing than the one Uncle Claude told in class today and it's not my story to tell."

Dropping a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, Walter smiled, "Well, as I said earlier, they're not going to get any judgment or damnation from me."

Cloud looked up at the English teacher with a pleased smile, "You know... Uncle Claude doesn't trust many people enough to let them see something like this, even by accident. I think I'm starting to see why he let you, Mr. Erickson." Taking the teacher's hand from his shoulder, he gave it a firm shake, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta get home and talk to my mom. She was planning to share some news with them at dinner tonight and in light of today's little shindig, I think it's gonna have to wait. Poor Uncle Claude doesn't need any more surprises."

* * *

**A/N:**

O_O I warned you about the angst, didn't I? *eyes fic* I _promise_ the next part makes up for it in spades. ^_^

Questions, comments, blueberries?

_Coming Soon:_ Crissy and Berger at an art show, Berger in a suit and looking presentable and the gang getting thrown out of a restaurant... what more could you want? Just wait and see... ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

**_March 20, 2010:_** Man, do I love this part. ^_^ In spite of me being a total angst bunny and loving the hell out of the _massive_ angst splurges in Parts 2 and 4... I think this part may be my favorite. ^_^ *squee!!!*

**_Warnings:_** Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh.

And, for the record, this part would be the reason why the fic gets an 'R' rating. Nothing more intense than some kissing and making out (Yes, yes, it's Claude and Berger again -- what can I say? They're incorrigible. Berger especially. ^_^), but still... You have been warned. ^_^

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much...))_

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**_Let the Sun Shine In -- Part 3_**  
by _Renee-chan_

Claude lifted his hands to smooth down Berger's sport coat collar one more time. His lover caught the hands before they got even halfway up to said collar and pressed kisses to both of them. Expression serious, but eyes laughing, Berger said, "Enough, Claudio. My collar is straight, my buttons are matched, my pants are ironed. There isn't a piece of lint brave enough to even dare approach me. It's going to be fine."

Blushing, Claude ducked his head, "I'm sorry. It's just... I just..." He cut himself off with a frustrated noise.

Lifting a hand to lightly caress Claude's face, Berger smiled softly in understanding, "Look... I don't have to go, you know."

Claude's head immediately jerked up, dismayed eyes locking onto Berger's, "No! You really do, Berger. Sarah's finally off the drugs and she has such a wonderful foster family and she's been doing so well... she doesn't need another role model bailing on her when she needs him."

Cupping Claude's face in his hands, Berger pressed a light kiss to his lips, "Then stop stressing about it. We're gonna go to the art show, Crissy and I are going to see Sarah's paintings and you're going to wander around the room so all your students can show theirs off to you. Our paths don't even have to cross at all tonight if you're that worried about it, OK? Your principal will never even suspect that we know each other."

Claude dropped his head to rest against Berger's chest, hands crushing the sport coat he'd been so obsessively smoothing just a few minutes earlier, "Sometimes I think I really don't deserve you."

Chuckling quietly, Berger wrapped his arms around the other man and said teasingly, "It's 'cuz you don't. I've always been too good for you, but you have your uses, so I let you stick around." Ignoring Claude's snort of disbelief, he added, "But now that you've gone and rumpled the first nice, suit-like outfit I've worn since my grandfather's funeral, I may need to rethink that."

Claude raised his head and frowned at his lover, "You told me you were six when your grandfather died."

Giving Claude a beaming smile as he stepped away to get his keys, Berger said, "I was!"

Groaning softly, Claude shook his head, "You know... I knew the tie was a losing battle before we even fought it and I was surprised that you caved on the idea of the slacks and sport coat... I'm never going to get you into a suit again, am I?"

Claude wouldn't have thought it possible for Berger's grin to get any wider, but it did, "Probably not."

Eyes lighting at the phrasing, Claude asked, "Probably?" At Berger's sly grin, Claude immediately slipped an arm through the crook of the other man's, "Have I mentioned how handsome you look?"

Berger's eyes were positively dancing as he led Claude out of the apartment, "Not in the last five minutes. Keep talking... maybe you can convince me."

With twinkling eyes, Claude started talking, "You're quite dashing, really. One might almost say debonair." When Berger almost stumbled from laughing so hard, Claude knew he had the fish hooked -- now it was time to reel him in. Mood fully lightened, Claude continued to expound on Berger's physical virtues all the way to the high school.

When they reached the building, it was to find Crissy already outside waiting for them. As they approached, her eyes widened and her face flushed. Claude was almost afraid to ask what the petite brunette was thinking about to have made her eyes glaze over like that. When they were within a few steps of her, she let out a low wolf whistle. Making a twirling motion with one finger, she indicated that they should each turn around for her. They each did so, so she could get a view from all sides. When they were done, she said, "_Damn_, but you boys clean up nice! I am impressed!"

Berger smiled, "It was all Claude's doing. I think he was embarrassed to be seen with me in my usual clothes."

Crissy smirked in response, "Ironic since _I'll_ be the one getting to hang all over you, tonight." Tossing Claude a broad wink, she added, "So, thank _you_, Claude! I appreciate the effort!"

Sighing heavily, Claude slumped, "Don't remind me. I'd rather be with you two than playing the room making admiring noises about artwork that I mostly don't care about."

Crissy lifted a hand to pat his cheek, "Poor Claude. At least you'll get to make up for it later when we meet the gang for dinner, right?"

As Claude crossed his arms over his chest and assumed a grumpy expression, Berger laughed. Turning to Crissy, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "After an entire night of seeing me dressed up -- with a woman draped on my arm, no less -- and after having to pretend he doesn't know me for that entire time... I doubt that Claude's preferred way to 'make up for it' will involve a public place and a large group of people, Crissy."

Confusion filled her eyes at Berger's words, but when she caught sight of Claude's now intense blush, she clued in. Snickering to herself she said, "Ohhhh... I see." Tapping a finger against her chin, she then said, "Funny... those limitations never stopped you two in the past..."

Berger burst out laughing and Claude just spluttered, "Well, we're not 18 anymore and these aren't the 60s, Crissy!"

Reining in his laughter to a dirty snicker, Berger pinched Crissy's cheek, "Yeah, no more orgies in the park for you, Crissy. Sorry!"

"That's it. I'm walking away from you guys before you get me into trouble," and with that last statement, Claude stalked away.

Sighing dramatically, Crissy said, "No sense of humor. Shall we go find Sarah and get this ball rolling, then?"

With a gallant wave of his hand, Berger said, "Oh please, lets," and led her into the school.

* * *

Claude eyed his watch with a small groan. Only 7:45. The school's yearly art show was _not_ his idea of a good time. Back in Kansas he'd usually managed to wiggle out of going. He'd gone the first year he'd worked in _this_ school out of a sense of responsibility. When he'd discovered that student art shows were as torturous in New York as they were in Kansas, he'd tried to duck out of it this year. Then Berger had dropped his little bombshell into Claude's neatly laid non-plans. The poor girl that Crissy had told them about what seemed like forever and a day ago, but in reality hadn't been more than a few months, had done wonders for his lover's self esteem. Helping her get over her addiction and get settled into her new life with her foster parents had given him a real sense of purpose in his own life. Claude couldn't be happier for him or prouder of him. And underneath all her anger, Sarah was a sweet girl -- she deserved the second chance that Berger's support had given her. So, when she'd shyly asked Berger to come to see her entries to the art show, he hadn't hesitated to say 'Yes'. They hadn't realized that she went to Claude's school until after the fact. And so, he was stuck. He couldn't let Berger and Crissy loose in his school without him there to do any necessary damage control -- especially since at least one teacher now knew who Berger really was.

Digging up another insincere smile from somewhere, he moved to the next young artist in line. He was surprised to be met by a quiet snicker. Looking down into the bright blue eyes of Kelly Donovan, his smile gained at least a touch of sincerity. The girl had become one of his staunchest supporters ever since that day in March when he'd bared his soul to her and the rest of her class. If she wasn't so brightly innocent about her almost groupie-like behavior, he'd have been extremely uncomfortable around the girl, but it was hard to be offended by anything she did. She just had that kind of a way about her.

Beaming up into his pained eyes, she asked innocently, "Are you having fun yet, Mr. Bukowski?"

"Of course I am, Ms. Donovan. Why wouldn't I be?" He'd answered too fast. He could tell the moment the words left his mouth and he winced accordingly.

She just smiled, "Not a big art fan, are you?"

Dropping the smile that was starting to make his face hurt, he sighed, "No... not really." Recovering quickly, he added, "But I'm sure your work is beautiful. Why don't you show it to me?"

Laughing out loud, she led him over to where her artwork was hanging. He couldn't have said if they were any good and he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at, but he had to admit, the chalk pastels that she'd used certainly had a pleasing look to them. At least the colors were nice.

Kelly's excited voice broke through his musing, "Oh! I almost forgot! Since you're here, I'd really like my dad to meet you! I managed to convince him to come and I'm not sure I'll get another chance to get the two of you to meet. Wait right there, I'll go find him!"

Before he even had a chance to answer, the girl had scampered off. Not long after that infamous class, several of those students had started coming by his classroom and just hanging out for the extra-help period. Comfortable with them in a way he wasn't with most of his students, thanks to the unusual circumstances, he'd found himself not minding the company. Kelly seemed to come around more consistently than the others, but it didn't really bother him, especially since she'd so clearly needed someone to talk to and his own show of bravery in the classroom that day was what had given her the courage to seek him out in the first place.

Her parents had gotten married a few years after she was born -- apparently, her father hadn't known about her until then. When he found out, he'd promised to take care of the woman and child, not really considering whether they were a good permanent match, just desperately wanting to do right by them. The early years of the marriage had at least been happy ones. Her mother had a good job working in business and her father worked in a small music store. Then they had another child -- her little sister, Eileen -- and that was when it started going downhill.

Her mother had ambitions for herself, very high ambitions, and they didn't involve staying home and raising two children. Her father, on the other hand, would have been happy with barely two pennies to rub together and adored his little girls with everything in him. Unfortunately, the people that her mother worked with and the friends that she had didn't find it an acceptable solution that the husband should stay home with the children while their mother worked. The strain of the situation had broken their marriage, but it wasn't until last year that the divorce had been finalized and her father had gotten custody of them. He'd moved them to the city where he'd lived when he was younger and opened his own music store. That at least let him dictate his own hours so he could be around when they needed him. For the most part, Kelly had admitted that she and her sister were much happier now, as was their father, but that didn't mean it was easy.

Claude had to admit, he'd been interested in meeting the man ever since Kelly had first started talking about him. He sounded like an interesting fellow, and more importantly, he'd gotten this odd feeling that Mr. Donovan and Berger might understand each other, maybe could even be friends... and Berger could use a few more. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't immediately notice as Kelly came back, practically dragging her father behind her. He heard her voice before he saw them, "OK, Dad! This is the teacher I was talking about that I wanted you to meet. Mr. Bukowski, this is my dad, Neil."

It was on that last word that Claude finally got himself turned around to face the pair... and then froze in absolute shock. Fortunately, the lanky, long-haired, slightly scruffy man standing across from him wasn't fairing any better. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, then just when Kelly looked like she was going to step in and say something, they started babbling at each other at once.

"Jeanie said she lost touch with you almost 8 years ago and she hasn't been able to find you since! We've been looking ever since I got back! Where the hell have you been?"

"I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!! You're **not** dead! Holy sweet Jesus, G-d in heaven, I **knew** it! I was **right**! Take _that_, Miss 'I know everything' Franklin!"

They both paused for breath at the same moment and in so doing, realized that by babbling at each other at more than a polite volume and grabbing each other in back-breaking hugs, they'd brought more than a little bit of attention to themselves. Poor Kelly looked like she was torn between wanting to shrink into the floor and wanting to join in the excitement. Blushing intensely and smiling weakly, Claude said, "Kelly, Woof... maybe we should take this outside."

He got them all outside as quickly as he could, darting glances around the room trying to find his other two wayward friends. To his dismay, he didn't see them anywhere. He _did_ see Walter, however, who raised an eyebrow at him in query as he passed. Shaking his head, he tried to indicate that he would explain later... _much_ later.

Once they were outside and away from prying eyes, Woof immediately latched back onto him like he was afraid that Claude would disappear like smoke if he let him get out of arm's reach. Claude wrapped his arms around the other man and cradled him close, "Shh... Shh... It's OK, Woof. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

Woof had his face pressed into Claude's neck and was liberally soaking it with his tears. Kelly wryly piped up from behind her father, "I, uh... take it you two know each other, then?"

Woof let out one last sniffle before raising his head to answer his daughter with a warning tone, "Kelly..."

Kelly laughed, "I know, I know. Don't be a wise-ass."

Frowning, Woof wiped his eyes on his sleeve, "And don't use that kind of language, either." Turning back to Claude, his face broke into a wide smile, "Damn, Claude... I can't even begin to tell you how great it is to see you!" Then in a lightning fast change, his face took on an expression that was a cross between horrified and supremely excited. He grabbed Claude's hand as though to drag him somewhere, "Oh G-d! Claude, if you're here and you're alive, we have to go talk to Jeanie! Or Crissy... Crissy would know, too. Oh, maybe we'll just go find them both. Between all of us, I'm sure we could find him! We've done it before..."

Digging in his heels to avoid being dragged, Claude finally managed to get a word in edgewise, "What are you babbling about now, Woof?"

Making a frustrated noise, Woof started gesturing wildly with his free hand, "We have to go find him and tell him that you're not dead!"

Getting more confused by the second, Claude burst out with, "**Who??**"

The answer came from behind him and the tone of voice was so serious that, for a moment, Claude didn't recognize it, "Me, Claudio. I think he wants to go find _me_."

Now it was Woof's turn to stare in confusion as he slowly turned to take in the owner of the new voice. He didn't recognize him, Claude could tell. Then again, dressed as immaculately as he was, with his wild hair pulled into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, Claude wouldn't have known him either... at least not at first. Woof's hazel eyes took in every minute detail, thoroughly examining Berger from head to toe, then from toe to head. After a few minutes of that intense scrutiny, his face broke into a wide, beaming smile. Then he launched himself at Berger with all the enthusiasm with which he'd latched onto Claude earlier, "Banana-Berger! You're sober! And you're sane!" Leaning back for a moment to sweep his gaze up and down once more, his voice filled with awed wonder, "And you look fan_tas_tic!"

Berger rolled his eyes, "Don't get used to it. This is a one-time deal, just for the art show tonight, OK?"

Eyes wide with no small amount of hero-worship, Woof smiled, "I don't care. You still look great." Turning his head to look at Claude, he asked, "How did you find him? How did you get back? _When_ did you get back?" Face taking on a hurt look, Woof asked plaintively, "Why didn't you tell us you weren't dead? I... I'd never been wrong before, Claude... I haven't trusted myself since."

Crissy finally made her presence known, lifting a hand to rest against Woof's back, "He didn't remember, Woof. He had amnesia until a few years ago. The minute he started to remember he came back and he found us. We've been trying to track everyone down ever since. You were one of the last ones we couldn't find."

Berger laughed, "Maybe Cloud's right about Jeanie's karmic crap. There appears to be something to it, after all. How the hell else do you explain _this_?"

When the resultant laughter tapered off, Kelly finally found her voice, "OK... I've just got one question..."

As one, Claude and Woof shot back, "Only one?" Meeting each other's eyes, both men smiled in pure understanding.

Kelly at least had the grace to blush, "To start with, at least." Woof waved her to continue, "Dad... why the hell are they all calling you 'Woof'?"

To everyone else's intense interest, Woof blushed hotly at that question, then mumbled, "I think we'll save that story for another time, OK, Kell?"

Sighing dramatically, Kelly grumped, "In other words, you'll tell me when I'm older, right?"

Wincing a small smile, Woof answered, "If ever."

At Kelly's purely adolescent wail of, "Da-ad!" they all broke back up into laughter.

Crissy took pity on her and patted the girl's shoulder, "Don't worry, sweetie. If he won't tell you, one of us will." Cutting off Woof's protests with a raised hand, Crissy continued, "In the interest of not explaining all of this stuff more than once, how about we save the rest of it for when we meet the others at dinner, OK? Berger and I already said our goodbyes to Sarah, so if the rest of you are all done, why don't we just get out of here?" She then turned to give Woof a stern look, "Because you _are_ coming with us... right?"

Woof gave her an unsure but game smile, "Who all is going?"

Crissy answered, "All of us, Jeanie and Cloud, Cloud's friend Zack, Hud and Dionne." At Claude's questioning look, she explained, "I don't think they're bringing the kids, Claude. Last time we talked they said something about finding a sitter."

Claude raised an eyebrow, "Not what I was going to ask. What about Tom?"

Crissy blushed, "Oh... him." Clearing her throat, she raised her head defiantly, "Apparently with all the things he learned about me in the last year, he decided that I wasn't appropriate girlfriend material after all." Her look turned cold, "So I say, good riddance."

Berger stepped into the suddenly brittle silence with a loud clap, "And on that extremely awkward note, what say we get going?"

Woof stepped smartly up next to him and beamed. They then wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders and set off in perfect step as though it hadn't been 14 years since the last time they'd walked like that. Claude couldn't help but laugh at their antics as he offered Kelly his arm. At her questioning look, he explained, "Remember all those stories you told me about your dad? Well, I'd finally decided that I really wanted to meet him... because I had a feeling that he and Berger would get along really well." Snorting out a laugh, he finished, "Looks like I'm not such a bad judge of character, after all!"

* * *

Berger wrapped an arm around Claude and smiled, "Oh, come on... It wasn't _that_ bad..." Claude just buried his face in Berger's shoulder and groaned.

Kelly was hiding between Cloud and Zack and shooting her father and the rest of the adults horrified glances. In a quiet voice she whimpered, "I've never been thrown out of a restaurant before..."

Jeanie threw her arms around Woof and caroled out proudly, "We have!"

Crissy threw her arms around him from the other side, "At least eight or nine times!"

Woof put his arms around the girls, threw back his head and howled.

Dionne snuggled closer to her husband and slipped him a glowing smile, "Is it just me, or do you suddenly feel 18, again?"

Hud gave her a gentle squeeze before ignoring that question in favor of throwing out another, "So, where to next, oh fearless leader?"

That question stopped Berger in his tracks, a look of profound surprise on his face. Woof and the girls almost ran into him and Claude before they realized the pair had stopped walking. Berger slowly turned his head to look at Hud, a very vulnerable express scrawled across his face. He cleared his throat, but no sound emerged.

Hud just smiled an understanding smile, "We're still your Tribe, aren't we?"

The moment seemed to stretch on forever until Claude leaned over and whispered something in Berger's ear. The stunned look fell from the other man's face and a wicked grin bloomed in its place, "Well... there's this really nice park right near our apartment building -- it's not as big as Central Park or Washington Square Park, but these days, it's a hell of a lot safer..."

Dionne laughed in sheer delight, "Banana-Berger, that sounds like a _fabulous_ idea! Why don't we all run home, pay our baby sitters a little extra and change into something more comfortable? We'll meet at your apartment in say... an hour?"

Kelly opened her mouth as though to ask a question, but Woof ran right over her without even looking, "No, you don't get to come. It's a school night and I'm sure you have homework you didn't finish."

Kelly stared at her father for a moment before spluttering, "Dad, how the hell did you do that? You weren't even facing me to see me open my mouth to talk!"

Now it was Woof's turn to pause. Jeanie's mouth slid into a gentle smile and she lifted a hand to caress her friend's cheek. Eyes shining with emotion, she brushed a kiss against his jaw, "Welcome back, Shaman."

A wildfire blush raced across Woof's face at the attention and he tried to duck his head. Neither of the girls were having any of that. Crissy tucked a gentle hand under his chin and turned him to face her. Once she had his attention, she smiled, "Remember, Woof? Not the least important -- not by a long stretch."

Woof finally relaxed again, then pulled Crissy and Jeanie to him in a tight hug. Voice roughened with emotion, he said, "I have _missed_ you guys!"

The girls responded with an equally strong embrace. Jeanie's cheeks were now wet with the few tears that had escaped, "We've missed you, too, Woof. We've missed you, too."

Once everyone had calmed, they said their see-you-laters and departed for their various homes to change clothes.

* * *

Berger stood in the bathroom, idly turning over something he'd found tucked away in his old vest. He hadn't thought about it in years, hadn't even remembered he still had it. Before he could gather the courage to open it and read it, however, Claude's voice called out from the bedroom, "You're not going to believe what I just found, Berger!"

Berger quickly tucked the much-creased and tattered envelope back into his vest where he'd found it and went to join his lover in the bedroom, "Well, then why don't you tell me what it is and let me decide?"

Claude had opened his mouth to respond, but when he turned and caught a glimpse of Berger standing in the open doorway, his eyes widened and he seemed to forget what he'd been about to say. Berger just laughed and obligingly turned a circle for him, feeling a small thrill as the old fringe swirled around him as he moved. When he was done, he struck a pose in the doorway. In a pair of ripped jeans, with his top half clad only in his old suede vest and with his hair a wild cloud around his face, he knew he looked good. Still... it was gratifying to know that 18 years after you'd met, you could still reduce your lover to speechlessness. He smirked, "Like what you see, Claudio?"

Still struck dumb, Claude nodded vigorously. Taking a moment to return the favor, Berger looked him over, as well. He'd put on a white long-sleeved, v-necked tee-shirt -- not as flamboyant as what he used to wear, but when it clung so nicely to his physique, Berger sure as hell wasn't going to complain -- and a pair of jeans. For just a moment, Berger felt a pang of regret that they weren't that old patchwork number with the British flag sown onto his ass. He always had liked those... Shaking off the melancholy, Berger finished his visual exploration. There it was... the coup-de-grace. Claude had pulled his shoulder-length hair free from its tie and let it float loose around his face. He didn't do it often, and almost never in public, and the sight of it was too much.

Stepping forward, Berger buried his hands in that honey-gold mane and pressed his lips to the juncture of Claude's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. Sense memories washing over him in an unending wave, he let out a low growl and nipped at the flesh under his mouth. Claude let out a ragged gasp and pulled him closer. Berger reared back at the sound, eyes dilated and feral, "Claudio... are you _sure_ you wouldn't rather stay home?"

Claude moaned and dropped his head onto Berger's shoulder, "Oh G-d... you _would_ ask that now, wouldn't you?"

Berger stepped back, deliberately putting a few inches of space between them. Clearing his throat, he answered, "No... no, you're right. We told everyone we'd meet them." His eyes locked onto Claude's with an almost violent promise, "Besides... there's always later..." Seeing Claude's shiver of anticipation was all the reward he needed for his restraint. Smiling brightly, he asked, "Now, what was it you wanted to show me?"

Wordlessly, Claude held up a strip of material. It took Berger a long, slow moment to figure out what it was and when he did his breath caught in wonder. It was Claude's old headband. How had _that_ escaped his parents' purging of his belongings? He took it from his lover with shaking hands and ran his fingers over it. Claude smiled and gathered up half his hair so that Berger could help him slide the headband on between the layers. As Claude patted his hair back into place, Berger took another step back to admire his handiwork. There was something about that headband... G-d, it took those 18 years right off him. With his hair loose and flowing about his shoulders and that stripe of colored cloth across his brow, dressed more casually than he'd seen him in a _long_ time and with that almost impish grin crossing his features... he looked like a teenager again.

Claude's grin stretched wider and he lifted a finger to shake it at his lover, "Uh-uh, Berger. I recognize that glazed look in your eyes. Remember, we have to meet the others."

Berger took one slowly stalking step forward as he nodded in gentle agreement, "Mm-hmm... We sure do."

Claude's grin faltered at his distracted intensity and he took a step backward, "Berger... They're gonna be here any minute..."

As Claude's grin faltered, Berger's widened, "Mm-hmm... They sure are."

Claude backed up another pace, putting his hands up in front on him, "Berger, I mean it! Any minute now!"

Berger's smile became a smirk and turned wicked, "Well, then I guess we'll just have to be quick about it, won't we?" Claude had barely enough time to let out a startled yelp before Berger finally growled and pounced.

* * *

Jeanie frowned as another of their group joined them at the door to Claude and Berger's apartment. She looked down at her watch and sighed. She'd been standing out here for the better part of 10 minutes already. Granted, with Zack and her son practically shoving her out the door, she'd been early, but _still_. Hud raised an eyebrow as he and Dionne approached and Jeanie shrugged in response. Crissy made an irritated noise, "Did you try your key?"

Jeanie threw up her hands, "Of course I did! They've got the chain up."

Woof approached from the stairs and smiled at the rest of the group, "Did we decide to have the party in the hallway?"

Dionne scowled, "No, we did not. It's just that we've been knocking for the last 10 minutes and neither one of them is answering."

Woof eyed the door for a minute, then his face flushed. He scuffed his foot against the carpet, "Oh... maybe we should give them another few minutes."

Hud's eyes narrowed at the taller man, then widened, "You mean...? Oh. **Oh**. That... that's just..."

Jeanie's mouth dropped open and she started to giggle. That started off everyone else. When they finally calmed, Crissy commented, "For goodness' sake! I know we haven't done something like this since we were teenagers," eyeing the colorful, hippie-styled group around her, she smirked, "And we all apparently had the same idea to _dress_ the part... but this is just ridiculous. Do they have to _act_ like teenagers, too?"

Hud rolled his eyes as he stepped up to the door, "Maybe they're still trying to make up for lost time." Lifting his fist, he pounded hard on the closed door in front of him, and in the kind of powerful voice that only a cop has, yelled, "NYPD! Open up!"

Woof's eyes widened, "Well, if _that_ doesn't get their attention..."

It did. Barely a minute later, Claude flung open the door. He was out of breath, his shirt was on backwards and he looked more than a little disheveled. Before he could even start to come up with something to say, the group in the hallway sputtered into laughter again. Berger walked up behind him, feet bare, jeans zipped but not buttoned and his fringed vest slung over his shoulder, looking completely comfortable and more than a little smug. Draping his free arm around Claude's shoulders, he smirked at the other man's blush. Planting a butterfly kiss on his lover's red cheek, he said simply, "Um... Claudio?" When Claude turned to look at him, he laughed, "Your shirt's on backwards."

Claude's eyes widened and he immediately cursed and stormed back down the hall into the bedroom to fix his appearance. Berger waved the rest of them inside. Hud was the last one in and he gave Berger an arch grin, "Got a little distracted, did we?"

Berger didn't even try to hide his cat-that-got-the-canary grin, "Yeah... I guess you could say that."

Hud laughed and clapped Berger on the shoulder, "Well, good for you, then, man. Good for you."

* * *

**A/N:**

And I think it's time we had some chibi silliness, don't you? ^_^

Woof: *cheers* Woohoo! I got to be in the fic! It's about time!

Claude: O_O Woof... that... that's not really a _good_ thing.

Woof: *blinks innocently* It's not?

Claude: *shakes head* No, it's really kinda not.

Woof: *frowns* But... she _likes_ me... Doesn't she?

Claude: *twitch* That's not really a good thing either, Woof.

R-chan: *cuddles the Woof* Don't you listen to him. He's just grumpy. I'll take care of you -- I promise. *faraway look* I have plans for you...

Woof: *sweatdrop* You know... I think I see what you mean... *begins to edge away*

Berger: I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Woof: *whimper* Why?

Berger: *smirk* Because if you run away, you'll only make her mad.

* * *

Questions, comments, spaghetti squash?

Nuriko: *twitch* Oh, come on! _Spaghetti squash_? You've actually been writing so much you ran out of fruit?

R-chan: *pout* No. I just like spaghetti squash.

Nuriko: O_O

_Coming Soon:_ The Tribe spends the night out in a park under the stars, dreaming of simpler times... and Jeanie finally clues them in to what she's been up to for the last two years. And as she predicted... Australia would have been the safer choice.


	5. Chapter 5

**_March 21, 2010:_** So, here we are at Part the Fourth and the end of this fic. I hope you've enjoyed it. I know I have. ^_^ And please do remember, comments and reviews are love. ^_^

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much...))_

**_Warnings:_** Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh. And for this part in particular... we're back in angstville again. *sheepish grin* Sorry? But... it ends kinda happy and sappy, so that makes it OK, right?

* * *

**_Let the Sun Shine In -- Part 4_**  
by _Renee-chan_

Once Berger and Claude were dressed -- again -- they filed out the door and down to the park. Berger was right, it was smaller... but at the same time, it had the same feel as the larger parks used to have and no longer did. It was close, warm... it felt like home. They found a comfortable clearing and sprawled out in the grass. Berger spread himself out on his back, head comfortably pillowed in Claude's lap. Hud sat down against a tree to their right with Dionne tucked against his side. Woof selected a spot on their left and laid down on his side with one long arm draped over Berger's legs and his back braced against Jeanie who was sitting behind him Indian-style. Crissy eyed the group for a moment then toed off her shoes and slouched down against Woof's legs. She stretched her feet in Hud and Dionne's direction to complete the circle.

Once they'd settled, a sense of peace seemed to wash over the group. It wasn't the same -- of course it wasn't -- but it was the closest any of them had gotten to the simple joy of their youth since they _had_ been young. It was Claude who eventually broke the silence. Throwing a dandelion at Woof to catch the other man's attention, he asked, "So... how much hell did you catch from Kelly on the way home?"

Woof snorted, "Jesus, Claude... She's too bright for her own good, you know? I don't envy you having her in two of your classes."

Claude groaned, "Don't remind me." With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, "She's gonna be a royal pain in my ass from now on, isn't she?"

Woof laughed, "Welcome to the club, Claudio. At least she means well." Face taking on a serious cast as he brushed his hand up and down Berger's calf, he added, "And she can keep her mouth shut, too. Whatever she finds out about you outside of school, she'll keep outside of school." At Claude's naked look of relief, he smiled. He then turned to look up at Jeanie, "Besides, I think she'd do just about anything for the lot of us just for arranging an introduction to Claude Ryan and Zack Wellington." Raising his voice into a girlish titter, he finished, "Because they are just the _hottest_ guys in school! Zack is the star quarterback and Claude is in _all_ the high school shows! And they're _seniors_! And they were both paying attention to _me_!"

At Woof's accurate impression of his daughter's voice, the group broke up into laughter. Jeanie smacked him on the arm, a mock serious expression on her face, "Oh yeah? Just wait until she finds out that neither of them is available!"

When Woof blinked in confusion, Claude threw another dandelion at him. After the other man turned back to face him, he explained, "They've been dating each other for over a year, now, Woof."

Letting out a small laugh of his own, Woof said, "_Oh_. Yeah... I don't think I'll share that with her. They'll be graduating in a few weeks anyway and she'll move on to her next crush once they do. Let her keep her illusions in the meantime."

They filled the next hour with happy chatter, catching Woof up on everything he'd missed and catching up on everything in his life that _they'd_ missed. When the conversation tapered off into another natural lull, Jeanie started to fidget. Pressed against her legs as he was, Woof couldn't miss it. Rolling his head over, he asked, "What is it, Jeanie?"

Jeanie let out an embarrassed little laugh, "Oh, man... I don't know where to start this story, actually."

Dionne smiled from where she was now stretched out in front of her husband, leaning back against his chest with his arms wrapped around her, "The beginning is usually a good place."

Crissy piped up next, "I've always liked 'once upon a time'."

Berger shook his head from where it was now pillowed on Claude's chest as the other man had also lain down, "Nah... Start with the sex scene. That's always the best part."

From underneath him, Claude raised a hand and smacked him in the head, "Berger!"

Berger blinked innocently up at his lover, "Well, it _is_."

Jeanie held up a hand for silence. When they all immediately obliged, her face relaxed into a soft smile. If Berger was their Chief and Woof their Shaman... she had been their Storyteller, and apparently old habits died hard. Nodding at Dionne, she said, "I guess the beginning actually _is_ the right place." She took a deep breath, settled into her storyteller pose, and let her voice drop into the gently rocking cadence of a tale.

"Many years ago, as my son was growing up, I found myself thinking back on more innocent times. The world was turning so cold, so dark." Waving a hand at Claude she said, "Partly it was losing you, Claude." She then gave Berger a sad smile of his own, "Partly it was losing you, too, Banana-Berger. But it wasn't just that the Tribe was breaking up, everyone going their own separate ways. It was the world itself. It seemed to have gotten so _angry_ all of sudden."

Crissy reached a hand up to entwine with Jeanie's, slowly stroking the other woman's hand with her thumb. Jeanie gave her a smile of gratitude, then started talking again, "I started living a little in the past, I think. I didn't want to see the present for what it was. So I started writing. Little stories, mostly. Some poems. Some of them got published. A lot of them didn't. I even set some of the poems to music. I didn't try to do anything with those... at least not then. It gave me some comfort, being able to touch all of you again, even in those small ways."

Everyone gave her encouraging grins and Woof reached up a hand to rest against her face, "Jeanie... If I'd had any idea, I'd have found a way to contact you. I didn't know you were so lost..."

Reaching her own free hand up to touch his, Jeanie smiled gently down at him, "I know you would have, Woof. But you were dealing with your own problems. We all were. And it all worked out for the best, so it's OK." Looking back up at the others, she picked up her story again, "So, around the time that Claude found me -- or found my son, as the case may be -- I started to think that maybe... there was another story I needed to write, a story I'd been waiting to write for a long time." Meeting each of their eyes in turn, she said, "It was _our_ story I needed to write. The story of that autumn... in 1967. Only by then, I didn't remember enough to write it accurately on my own."

Crissy abruptly sat up and pointed a finger at her friend, "_That's_ why you were picking all our brains for information about that time!"

Claude propped himself up on one elbow, "And that's why you invited Sheila up from D.C.! Does _she_ know what you were doing?"

Jeanie blushed and ducked her head, "Other than my son, you guys are the first to know."

Dionne smiled, "So, what is it? Will we ever get to read it?"

Jeanie lost her formal storyteller's rhythm as she smiled back in pure delight, "Even _better_. You're going to get to **see** it!" At everyone's blank expressions, she explained, "It's a musical, guys. I wrote the book and most of the songs and Claude wrote a few of the songs, too." She blushed again and muttered, "He also rewrote the end. I'm _still_ not totally thrilled about that." At Claude's confused look, her eyes widened, "No, no no... _my_ Claude, not you."

Berger snorted, "You know, Jeanie... it'd be easier if you just called him 'Cloud' like the rest of us do."

Ducking her head again, Jeanie sighed, "I know, I know... I just _can't_. There are reasons I gave him that name and those reasons still hold. Even though it makes things confusing sometimes... I don't want to give it up."

Claude smiled in understanding, "It's OK, Jeanie. I really don't mind. So long as _you_ don't mind continually clarifying things for us."

Suddenly leaning forward, Dionne said, "Hold on a minute! Jeanie, you said we're going to get to _see_ it? How are you going to arrange that? You can't just hire a cast to perform a musical, you know. You need backers, a producer, a set designer, musicians... it's a huge deal."

Smile turning impish, Jeanie laughed, "I know! I finished it early this fall and my agent started passing it around, trying to spark some interest. I just got a call from her this week -- we have all the financial backing that we need, we have a theatre to play it in, they've hired a producer, I'm going to direct and they're going to start casting calls in June!" Practically bouncing from excitement, she asked, "Isn't that amazing??"

Berger sat up and leaned over Woof to envelop Jeanie in a warm hug, "Jeanie, that's absolutely wonderful! I'm so proud of you!"

The others all moved over from where they were sitting or laying and hugged her in turn, adding their own congratulations. When they'd finally sat down again, Jeanie cleared her throat, "There's, um... there's just one or two other things I need to tell you." At the expectant looks, Jeanie let out a little whimper and buried her face in her hands, "First off... I kind of used our real names."

Dead silence met that statement. Hud found his voice first, "You did _what_?"

Jeanie whimpered again, "I wasn't thinking! In the back of my mind, I didn't really think that anyone would be interested in a story about our lives, didn't think it would actually ever get staged, so I didn't really worry about it at the time! Besides, it helped keep it all straight in my head while I was writing. It wasn't until my agent called this week that I realized that I never changed it... and that that could be a problem. And I think it might be too late to change it now. They've got all the scripts printed and everything..."

They each stared around at each other. Woof was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence this time, "Maybe it's not my business to say it... but I don't mind." At the round of stunned looks he received, he smiled, "I really don't. It's unbelievably flattering that my name will go down in history associated with a piece of art. And I haven't done anything with any of you that I'm ashamed of -- except far falling out of touch like I did."

Crissy beamed him a smile as she grabbed his hand in hers, "I don't mind either, Jeanie. It won't affect me one way or another."

Hud sighed, "Well, I can't exactly say I'm thrilled... but 'Johnson' is one of the most common names in the book and I can explain away 'Hud' easily enough. Besides, I've already made detective -- it's not like they can take away my shield for having a character in a musical named after me."

Dionne laughed and shrugged, "Suits me just fine, baby. I'm a singer. So far as I'm concerned, any free publicity I can get is _good_ publicity."

They all turned to look at Berger and Claude. Berger shrugged, indicating he didn't care one way or the other. Claude sighed, "I don't suppose there's any chance you didn't use my last name, is there?"

Jeanie blushed and shook her head, "You're kind of the lead character, Claudio... Your full name gets mentioned a few times." Wincing she added, "Middle name included."

Claude let out a self-deprecating laugh, "Well... I wish this had happened once I already had tenure, but I'll deal with it somehow. My principal owes me a favor or sixty... I'll just have to call one in." Offering her a smile, he added, "So, yeah... I guess it's OK with me, too."

Jeanie's eyes filled with an intense look of relief, "You guys have no idea how scared I was to tell you that." A single tear marked it's way down her right cheek, "You're the best."

Clearing his throat and taking on a fatalistic look, Claude then said, "You said there were 'one or two' things you needed to tell us, right? What's the other thing?"

Jeanie started to sweat, then finally blurted out, "I didn't want to do it, Claudio, you have to believe me! But he _made_ me do it -- said the tragedy would lose all its impact if I left the ending the way I'd written it. Then he handed me his version and I was so caught up in the emotion of finally having finished it that I didn't really think it through and I'm _still_ not sure why I agreed to change it and I'm really sorry!"

Claude stared at her for a minute, then turned to look at Berger and raised an eyebrow, "OK, love. You speak crazy-talk better than the rest of us combined. What the hell is she talking about?"

Berger just shook his head, "I haven't got a clue." Turning to Jeanie, he poked her leg with his outstretched foot, "Jeanie, what the hell are you talking about? Even I need a translation on that one."

Reluctantly, Jeanie looked up to meet Claude's eyes and said miserably, "I killed you off at the end."

Unexpectedly -- to Jeanie, at least -- Claude wasn't the one who protested. It was Berger who did. He shot to his feet, hands clenched into fists and eyes blazing, "You did _**what**_???"

Scuttling back behind Crissy at the force of his reaction, Jeanie held up her hands in a warding gesture, "I told you it's not my fault! My son made me do it!"

Berger took a menacing step forward and growled low in his throat, "I don't care why you did it. I am _not_ living through his death again. Not even vicariously through a play. **Change it back.**"

Claude finally scrambled to his feet and wrestled Berger back down to the ground, "Berger! It's not even real! It's just a story!" Clutching the other man to him with all his strength, he desperately tried to calm him, "I'm not dead, Berger. I'm not leaving you. Not ever. Not for **anything**. Please calm down!"

Berger struggled against his hold, eyes wild and crazy like they hadn't been since Claude brought him back to sanity. After a few minutes of fighting, he abruptly slumped, defeated. Letting Claude cradle him close, he started to mumble something under his breath. Claude leaned forward, eyes worried and somewhat frightened, "What's that, love? I can't hear you."

Not acknowledging that statement except to raise his voice so everyone could hear him, Berger just kept talking, "'...I hope that with all my heart. I know how upset you were when I left, how fractured you've become with me gone. I'm touched and I'm flattered, but it isn't what I want from you...'"

Over the sound of Berger's continued words came the sound of Claude and Hud's twinned gasps. Hud almost dumped his wife off his lap as he jerked forward, eyes wide and startled, "No... that's not possible." Turning his gaze to meet Claude's equally shocked one, he said, "Claude, I never gave him that letter. I _swear_ I didn't."

In answer to that, Berger reached a shaking hand into his inner vest pocket and pulled out the letter he'd found earlier, but hadn't been able to bring himself to open and read. Not that it mattered. He'd had that letter memorized for so long, he didn't need to read it to recite every word. He kept up his steady murmur, ignoring all of Claude's efforts to get him to shush until he got to the end, "'And... maybe this is selfish, but I hope you'll do the same for me. Keep me with you, wherever you are... and maybe... someday... somehow... we'll meet again.'"

As he reached the last words, he turned to face Claude, eyes haunted and full of pain, "'I love you, Berger... and I _will_ come back to you. I choose to believe that... I have to. Love, Claude.'" Finally, an edge of sanity came back into his gaze as he wrapped one hand around the back of Claude's neck and pulled him close, "I did what you asked. I imprinted you so deeply in my heart that I couldn't have removed you even if I wanted to. I knew it was foolish. I knew it was stupid to believe. _But I **did**, Claude._ Even then, even half-mad with grief, even with proof to the contrary _right the hell in front of me_, I believed in your words. I believed you when you said you'd come back to me. I held on to that belief for all those years you were gone. I held on to it so tightly it almost choked me."

Claude moved to say something, his own eyes tear-bright, but Berger planted a small kiss on his lips to keep him quiet. When he leaned back from that, his voice was tired... so very tired, "Don't say you're sorry, Claudio. No matter what else they did, those words also kept me alive. But there's a very, very small part of me that wakes in the night sometimes, still unsure if this is real. I can't listen to anyone else telling me that you're dead, even in a story... because I don't know if I have the strength to believe in those words a second time." Finally letting his head drop down onto Claude's shoulder, he dissolved into quiet tears.

At this point, Crissy and Jeanie were openly crying, Woof and Dionne looked like they were about to start and Hud was shaking his head in benumbed horror. Claude just sat there, rocking Berger in his arms and desperately trying to think of something to say that would make it better. Jeanie finally got herself under control enough to say, "I don't care if they yell at me. I don't care if they drop the play because of it. I'm not going to be the cause of this. I'll get it changed back. Somehow."

Claude ran gentle fingers through Berger's hair, finally managing to get his lover to lift his head, "Berger, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

Wiping his eyes free of the few remaining tears, Berger tossed him an irritated scowl, "Don't do that, Claudio. Sheila used to pull that crap on me all the time. I'm not a child and I'm not insane, no matter how I was acting a minute ago. Just say whatever you have to say. I'm with you, all right?"

Claude smiled, brushing tender hands against Berger's flushed cheeks, "Then don't you see? That's the difference right there, Berger. That's as distraught as I've seen you in over two years... and you pulled _yourself_ out of it. With no help from anyone else, I might add." Pulling the letter from Berger's hand, he held it up in front of him, "You don't need to believe in my words anymore, Berger. You have your own and you have _me_. What are you so afraid of?"

Woof pulled himself across the grass to rest his head against Berger's hip and sling an arm around his waist, "You have **all** of us, Berger. None of us are going to leave you again. Not ever... Not _ever_."

Looking around at the determined faces around him, Berger let some of the tension leave his body, then let himself meet Claude's eyes again, "Maybe you're right... I just don't know, Claude." Fluttering his hands in irritation, he huffed, "I'm not like the rest of you. I've always been a little tweaked. Since long before I met any of you, since long before I ever smoked my first joint, let alone did anything harder than that. I've always been a little off. I _know_ that." A blush ran across his features as he finally admitted what he'd tried so hard all his life to hide, "I don't see the world like normal people do. I don't connect with it as easily. Sometimes... a _lot_ of the time, things don't seem real to me -- they didn't, even back then. Believe it or not, the drugs made it better... for a little while, anyway." Reaching out a hand to touch the letter that Claude was still holding, he said, "Somehow, this was easier to believe... because it was written. It was concrete. I could hold it in my hand and _see_ it. I'm afraid that a play would be the same. I don't want to see you die on stage and have it feel more real than the you sitting next to me holding my hand."

Claude pulled Berger back up against him, "And my students thought _I_ was brave for what I said in class. Shit. I've got nothing on you, Berger." After another few moments of rocking his lover against him, he spoke again, "Don't you see, Berger? This is the last thing. Your own belief that you _can't_ recognize reality is what's keeping you from actually being able to do it. You memorized every word of the letter I wrote you, but there are parts of it you still managed to ignore. So... if you need new words to believe in, I can give you those, too." Carefully opening the worn page, he read, "'You're capable of so much more than what you let yourself be. You're as smart as any of us, maybe even smarter, and you have just as much passion as Sheila, though you show it differently. I hate to think that that very passion might be what destroys you.'"

Folding the letter and tucking it back into its envelope, Claude gently placed it back into Berger's vest pocket, then took the other man's face back into his hands, "You are capable of so much more than what you let yourself be, George Berger. You proved that this year -- with Sarah... and with me. I would never have gotten the help I needed if you hadn't pushed me to do it, Berger. I'd have lost myself to this thing twenty times over in the last two years without your help. You have strength and passion for everyone else when they need it... you just don't keep any for yourself."

Berger turned his gaze around the circle of faces eagerly leaning in towards him and when he finally got back to Claude, the rest of the tension left his body and a worn smile took its place, "Maybe... maybe you're right."

Claude snorted, "There's no maybe about it. Of _course_ I'm right!"

Turning back to look at Jeanie, Berger let out a small whimper, "You really killed him off at the end?"

Jeanie cleared her throat, "Well... sort of." Seeing the spark of hope in Berger's eyes, she elaborated, "Well, we never outright state it, we just stage his character laid out on the American flag and let everyone assume." As Berger's eyes started to lose focus again, Jeanie rushed to explain the next part, "But then we bring everyone -- including Claude -- back out on stage for encores of the more upbeat numbers, and..." She blushed.

Intrigued by her obvious embarrassment, Berger raised an eyebrow, "And what, Jeanie?"

Jeanie smiled, "Then we send you and him and several other characters out into the audience to start dragging random people up on stage to dance with the Tribe."

In spite of the stress of the situation, Claude chuckled, "How the hell does _that_ work, Jeanie? The audience is supposed to be there to watch, not to participate."

Warming to her subject, Jeanie shook her head, "I know! But Claude pointed out that I had already broken down the fourth wall in so many places in the play that it just made sense. There are actors out in the theatre in most of the major numbers, interacting with the people in the audience. Also, the characters actually _refer_ to the audience a few times in the play."

Hud snorted, "Oh _this_ has gotta be good."

"Well, my favorite is the scene where Claude's parents are harassing him about not having a job, right before they tell him he got his draft notice." She ignored Claude muttering off to her right about not remembering that day being particularly funny and continued, "So, his mother makes some comment about how disheveled he looks and then demands he change his pants before leaving the house. He gets this pouty look on his face and says, 'Mom, you're embarrassing me!' then waves a hand out into the theatre and says, 'The audience!' Then his mom wraps her robe around herself and gives the audience a sheepish grin and says, 'Oh... Hello,' and offers them a weak little wave."

There was a pause, then Crissy snorted out a laugh. Woof quickly followed. Even Berger snickered. At the sour look on Claude's face, Berger pulled him close for a quick kiss, "You've gotta admit, Claudio... It sounds like something you would do."

Hud jumped in next, "And I know exactly the look she's talking about. I remember thinking to myself the first time I saw you do it, 'No one who isn't a six year old girl should be able to pull that off so well.'" At Claude's affronted look, he slapped his hand on his thigh and let out a loud guffaw, "It's true, man!" As the offended look on Claude's face slid into a pout, Hud just laughed louder, "Holy shit, Claude! You can still do it! That should _not_ look so natural on a man, much less one your age."

Not wanting this to turn into a round of picking on Claude, Jeanie tapped Berger's leg to get his attention. With a sly grin, she said, "But Berger... I didn't tell you the best part."

Berger turned his head towards her, politely listening, "And what part would that be?"

Giving he and Claude a wicked grin, Jeanie said, "As you said earlier... the sex scenes!"

As Claude's mouth dropped open, Berger turned his entire body towards Jeanie and scooted closer. Bracing his chin on laced fingers, he met her eyes with a wicked grin to match hers, "You have my attention."

Jeanie's smile widened, "Well, you and Claude spend at least half the play rolling around on the floor together and groping each other at center stage. If I can convince the actors to do it, you even get to kiss him once."

Berger's mouth slid into a self-satisfied smirk, "You know... I think I'm liking the idea of this more and more..."

His smug grin was a nice counterpoint to Claude's horrified look, "Can I take back what I said earlier about it being OK to use my name?" At Berger's hurt look, Claude waved his hands frantically in the air, "What if my students see it? What if their _parents_ see it?" Eyes growing ever wider and more horrified, Claude's voice dropped into a harsh whisper, "What if someone on the _school board_ sees it?" The next words were a pitiful wail, "Then I'll **never** get tenure!"

Deciding it was now his turn to do the comforting, Berger bundled his lover into his arms and gently rocked him back and forth, making soft shushing noises. The rest of them tried to hold it in, but kept stuttering into laughter at the pathetic look on Claude's face. The tension finally broken for good by the good-natured laughter, the Tribe sat in the park, talking long into the wee hours of the morning, before reluctantly calling it a night about two hours before sunrise.

Berger, exhausted beyond belief by his own emotional storm and wanting his lover around when he had to deal with tomorrow, wordlessly turned off Claude's alarm clock when they got home. Claude, for once, didn't even voice a word of a protest, just picked up the phone and called the automated system to let the school know that he'd be out sick that day. Then they tucked up into bed and gratefully used each other to keep the nightmares at bay.

* * *

Jeanie pushed open the door to her apartment and almost cried when she saw that all the lights were off. She didn't want to wake her son in the middle of the night on a school night, but she _really_ wanted to talk to him. Before she had to make the decision, however, Cloud emerged from his room and quietly shut the door. Jeanie opened her mouth to talk, but he quickly motioned for her to keep her voice down, "Mom! Zack's still asleep. Please keep it down!"

Understanding filling her features, Jeanie tiptoed into the kitchen and settled at the table. When Cloud joined her, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and moaned. Immediately, his eyes took on a worried look, "Mom? What happened? Are you OK?"

She rolled her head sideways to look him in the eye, "Just great, Claude. Couldn't be better." Rubbing her face against his robe, she moaned again, then muttered, "Australia would have been the better choice."

Cloud's mouth dropped open and he almost squeaked, "You finally _told_ them? Oh my G-d... Was Uncle Claude really upset?"

Sitting up, Jeanie shook her head, "Ironically... no. But holy hell... _Berger_ was."

Wincing appropriately, Cloud asked, "So... are we calling the whole thing off, then?"

Smiling, Jeanie shook her head, "Again, ironically enough... no. Claude, of all people, managed to talk Berger down. Then I told him about all the simulated sex his and Claude's characters get to have on stage and that smoothed things over."

Cloud leaned back and commented dryly, "Maybe you should have started with that part."

In response, Jeanie slapped him on the shoulder, "For crying out loud, Claude! You're as bad as Berger sometimes!"

Laughing happily, Cloud leaned forward and kissed his mother's cheek, "Well, mom... since you raised me all alone, you have no one to blame but yourself for how I turned out."

Jeanie sighed dramatically, "I guess you're right at that..." Then she dropped her head into her hands and moaned again.

"OK... out with it. What's the problem now?" Cloud asked.

Letting out a quiet whimper, Jeanie answered, "I just realized what an idiot I was. Sheila's not coming back up here until school lets out in June... and I'm gonna have to go through this all again when she does!"

Not having any sympathy whatsoever for his mother's plight, Cloud simply answered her the same way he had the first time, "Yeah, mom... good luck with that. How about you warn me before you tell her, too, so I can be somewhere else..."

Jeanie finished the thought for him, "...like Australia. Yeah, I know." Abruptly she grabbed his hand with an excited look on her face, "Maybe we should just both get tickets to go there and call her from Sydney! That way, no matter how mad she is, she can't hurt us!"

Cloud laughed as he enveloped his mother in a tight hug, "You know... for a mom, you're not half bad."

Returning the embrace with a proud smile, Jeanie answered, "And for a son... you're not half bad, either."

In perfect harmony with each other, they said their goodnights and went to bed. In spite of its rocky road, tonight had been too wonderful to spoil with anything so banal as worry. There would be plenty of time to tackle tomorrow's problems tomorrow. Just before tucking herself into bed, Jeanie took one last look out at the stars and sang softly, "Good morning, starshine... The Earth says 'Hello'," then with a gentle smile, she blew the stars a kiss and turned out the light.

* * *

**A/N:**

Well... it's been a long, difficult, yet unbelievably fun road on this one. I've accomplished a lot of what I set out to do when originally starting this little trilogy of fics. Berger is recovered (*coughs* ...or is _closer_ to recovered after this part, anyway... ^_^) Claude is recovering. Woof is back. *cheers* I'm feeling pretty satisfied and accomplished, so I thought I was about done.

...Then I realized I'm not. *chuckles* As these stories progressed, I started to realize that every time I tied up a loose end, I found another one further down the tapestry. *chuckles* So, I guess I'll keep writing... and hope I keep finding one more loose end, because I'm not done with this ficverse, much less this fandom. Not by a long shot. ^_^

As a taste of what's up for the next fic... Sheila finally does make that visit up to NY -- with one or more children and possibly a husband in tow. *sings* Hail, hail, the gang's all here!

* * *

  
Questions, comments, blueberry pie?

Nuriko: Ha! I knew you were running out of fruit!

R-chan: *grumps* No... just running out of four syllabled fruit.

Nuriko: *blinkblink* But you started this whole thing with coconuts way back when -- that's only three syllables.

R-chan: Yeah... *pout* ...but four sounds better.

Nuriko: O_O I give up.


End file.
